


The Lamentation

by Adriana_Wagner



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Language, F/M, Falling In Love, Forced Proximity, Gen, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Instability, Multi, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Rebuilding Hogwarts, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Room, Soul Bond, Wandless Magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-06-27 14:56:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 82,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15687702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adriana_Wagner/pseuds/Adriana_Wagner
Summary: Both Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter return to Hogwarts (each for their own reasons) to help rebuild Hogwarts after the Final Battle and to their shock are supposed to share a room in the badly damaged castle. That turns out to be both a curse and their greatest hope for neither one of them can survive without the other.





	1. A lost and broken home

* * *

"Father tell me, we get what we deserve

Oh we get what we deserve

And way down we go  
Way down we go  
Say way down we go  
Way down we go

You let your feet run wild  
Time has come as we all oh, go down  
Yeah but for the fall oh, my  
Do you dare to look him right in the eyes?

'Cause they will run you down, down til the dark  
Yes and they will run you down, down til you fall  
And they will run you down, down til you go  
Yeah so you can't crawl no more

And way down we go  
Way down we go  
Say way down we go  
'Cause they will run you down, down til you fall  
Way down we go..."

["Way down we go" by Kaleo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0-7IHOXkiV8)

* * *

** Chapter 1 - A lost and broken home **

Draco Malfoy was tired. Absolutely exhausted was he, but then again he always was nowadays and probably had been for much longer than he cared to acknowledge.

Now that the war was over and the scares of the past years were dead or locked up in Azkaban for the most part, he should have been able to sleep better, rest his weary mind a bit and finally, finally be able to breath again, he knew this. But for some strange reason breathing seemed to get harder every day.

Draco’s trial had been over and done with in a matter of days and so were the trials of his parents. His father had gotten arrested instantly, while he and his mother had been confined in the manor until their punishment had been decided on.

In Draco’s opinion they had – all three of them – gotten off lightly for the crimes they had committed, but he was not to complain. His father… Well, there had been not much hope for him from the beginning of course. He didn’t get punished with ‘the kiss’ and that was more then he could expect really. The chance of the eldest Malfoy to get out of prison in this lifetime were very slim and Draco couldn’t help but feel a bit soothed by that thought. It was best for them all for Lucius to stay where he now resided.

His mother on the other hand was a completely different story.

It had been decided that she would be serving her sentence at Malfoy Manor, to stay there under house arrest for the duration of the next one and a half year. It had been the worst punishment they had been able to think of it seemed with the ‘Saviour of the wizarding world’ himself testifying on her behalf. They probably didn’t even realize what a cruel punishment staying under that roof really was for either one of them. Maybe Lucius had gotten the easier sentence after all.

There was nothing left of what it had once been. Draco’s childhood home had been desecrated.

There of course were the monetary reparations they had to pay for their role in the war, but what difference did it really make, when it wouldn’t have any impact what so ever on their day to day life and spendings? Yes, the ministry had indeed seized most of the estates the family owned all over the world, had more or less gutted their ancestral home in their search for artefacts and other hidden values and had ‘robbed’ them of many of their vaults. But what was left now was still far more then most of even the richest wizarding families this country knew these days, had ever possessed. So what did it matter? There wasn’t gonna be any struggle to live comfortably. And no, Draco was not considering his fathers fate as a Azkaban prison inmate for most likely the rest of his miserable, small minded life in this or his opinion on the matter. It did not matter.

War reparations barely had any impact on his or his mothers day to day life. Narcissa Malfoy would rot in the Manor for a good while longer of course and who knew what of her alleged ‘fragile mind’ would be left once she was allowed to move out of that cursed place, but that was a different matter. Draco shuddered thinking about that, but maybe not because of what other people would think. Gods, was he glad to have escaped the place. Not that his next destination promised to be much better, but the feeling of stepping out of the gloom of the estate had been impossible to suppress, even when ‘escorted’ - more like taunted, dragged and spit on - by aurors to platform 9 ¾.

 

The Express was winding itself through the quickly floating by landscape, heading towards Hogwarts, infamous school for witchcraft and wizardry, which at least at some point in Draco Malfoy’s life had felt like a home. It lay in ruins now, he knew and simply held too many dark memories these days to be considered anything other then a nightmare.

It wasn’t anything the blonde could think about right now though. Yes, nearing his old school, he tried his best to forget the mazy corridors and the many different classrooms he had studied in, the direction changing staircases, the Quidditch pitch, the Owlery, the Great Hall, the… the dungeons too, the school grounds overall, but especially the forbidden forest... he shuddered. He tried to forget the fateful astronomy tower as well and the damned room of requirement and… To be honest, he essentially tried to forget everything about it. But most of all he was careful not to remember the fact that he was currently on his way to that very place to serve his sentence there for the next few months.

Draco was tostay there in the castle then until the rebuilding of the in the battle so badly damaged castlewas completed and the new school year could start. He was to do his part to repair what he had helped destroy, by the order of the ministry of magic.

Could that really be worse then staying under house arrest in Malfoy Manor? The place that the Dark Lord had made his home during the war? But no, Draco would not think about H-H-Hogw... It wasn't easy to say the name, even just in the security of his mind. No, not at all easy. Especially with all the things he tried not to remember. He avoided it.

Draco stared out of the compartment window, watching the dark landscape rush by.

 

He had the small space to himself. The new volunteers that had gotten on the train with him avoided him as best as they could and Draco graciously did the same for them. 

The auror escort had been obvious, making sure he committed no crimes from the heavily guarded manor to the train station and checking that he indeed took the train… Not that they weren’t monitoring him anyway, but without the aurors people would have cursed ‘the infamous Malfoy heir’ on sight of course. Not just the aurors had been disappointed.

Yes, even those that had read the recent newspapers would have cursed him. Oh, the papers.... No. No, don't think about it, Draco, don't think...

'Thoseabominable papers!', Draco thought to himself, clenching his fists and jaw in rage,grinding his teeth so loudly that it disrupted the seemingly peaceful quiet of the apartment.

They now called him 'the boy who had no choice'. It was sickening. That title was so much worse then when they had simply called him 'the youngest Death-Eater', but that had been before the trials. And no, it was not because he liked it when people called him a Death Eater, no he hated that in fact. Hated all about it. But at least it was a true statement.

No, what he hated even more then that was the… the nonsensical pity the title of 'the boy who had no choice' had brought out in some crazy lunatics. Yes, _p_ _ity_ for the youngest Death Eater. Draco would have laughed had it just been a very, very tasteless joke, but no, they seemed to mean it. He wanted to hurl just at the thought of that, but his throat was still sore from the last time he had thrown up just minutes ago.

Thank Salazar for Silencing spells.

But really, how could anybodypossibly pity him? He couldn't fathom it.

 _Every_ _body_ had a choice and Draco had made his. They had been difficult choices, he didn't deny that, but still, he had made them. He had made the wrong ones and there was no excuse and no forgiveness or absolutionfor that. He wouldn't authorize any excuses be made for the choices that he had made willingly, in full conscience and awareness of the consequences. Ever. That was what he reminded himself of. Frequently. He had his weak moments, yes, of course. Moments where he felt like the choices he had made, had been to much to ask of the young boy that he had been back then. That he hadn’t fully understoodat that point what he got himself into and that he had lacked the foresight of what it would lead to or conclude in. But not for nothing he was called a coward, was he? So he had his weak moments here and there.

This wasn't one of them though. No, he knew how things really were in this moment.

 

Rigidly he sat in his seat, staring out the window, unseeing for the most part. He absent-mindedly wondered why it was so dark outside already or if it really was this late yet. The compartments and the hallwayshad appeared far darker and more looming to him too, much different then he remembered them to be from his first few years at school. Oh they were illuminated, alright, but it felt like above everything still lay this dreadful shadow that just wouldn't lift. A dark cloud he sat in it seemed like. Draco blinked rather furiously for a moment, trying and banish the lingering gloom, but it stayed in place all the same. As it always did.

He had a headache and every part of his body felt sore, his bones ached like that of an old man, his muscles and tendons felt strained, his skin felt worn out and far too thin and looked like it was pulled too taunt over his bones. It felt like sandpaper to him. His hair had grown long over the past year. It rather unpleasantly reminded him of his father at times and every time that thought appeared in his mind it made him cringe a bit. But he had stopped caring all the same. Not caring was a very different reason for wearing ones hair long after all, was it not? So it hung in long strands into his face now and touched his shoulders here and there. He didn't really like it like this, no, maybe not, but he’d found he didn't care much about how he looked any more. He didn't care for many things these days.

While the whole world cheered for the ‘Saviour’ and his hero friends and most everybody celebrated the end of the second wizarding war, Draco felt an overwhelming emptiness where relief or even joy should have been. This wasn't because he was sad and disappointed that the new world's order that the Dark Lord had tried to create in this world hadn't happened in the end. No, he just felt like there was nothing left in this tainted place that was worth celebrating. It all felt empty to him, damaged, darkened, soiled and stained. Dead.

Things that had once appeared to be light and good and easy weren't light any more, they were grey or black to him and they had been for quite some time. What was left any more in this world that Draco could appreciate, liked or even...or even… ‘love’ or something?

No, the world was empty and dark and in Draco's honest opinion, the Dark Lord had succeeded. He had done all this, sullied the world and the people in it,had desecrated it all. He had destroyed what had once been Draco’s home. Both his homes, to be truthful. But he was not gonna think of H-Hogwarts. His Hogwarts. The place he had once felt safe when he had lost feeling safe anywhere else. No, he was not gonna think about it.

The Manor on the other hand... The Manor was the darkest place of them all, in Draco’s mind. The place that the parasite had made his home, the nest of his darkness, his ‘Headquarters’. And the Dark Lord had infected every stone, every seam and groove, crevice, corner and nook of the once beautiful and proud Malfoy Manor. The darkness had seeped though every fibre of every room, every chamber, every saloon. It had slithered through every crack in the bricks of the walls. The building was infested with dark magic now, down to it's very core. Some of the taint was still very evident, like the blood of the hundreds, thousands of tortured prisoners spilled on the floors, the walls, the ceilings… But most of it you just felt, creeping up on you, stalking you, like the long since silenced screams of pure and utter horror and unimaginable agony, echoing through the halls like the ones that had uttered them were still alive.

Draco didn't wanna think about it. He didn't want to think at all, but these day it seemed to be all he could do. Thoughts were running through his head, never resting. This was why he was so very tired all of the time he assumed and sleep evaded him most nights.

Some nights he’d thought he would never be able to escape the Manor’s endless hallways and myriad of luxurious chambers that seemed to try to suffocate him with their mere existence, but here he was now. Not feeling any better for having escaped.

The train juddered and jerked and Draco was shook from his thoughts. Anxiety and fear came rushing through his veins at once, parallelizing the blonde, when he realized that the school grounds came in sight before him now and they were already slowing down to run into the station at Hogsmeade. 

Draco’s heart raced in his chest, his breathing became ragged and shallow. He gulped heavily, eyes fixed on the rugged silhouette of the castle out there, becoming clearer by the second. He gulped again and couldn't breath for a moment or two then. His heart beat out of control with his diaphragm contracting quite uselessly, eyes bulging now while his whole body shook. He wanted to claw at his throat then, but couldn’t move. There were bright sparks in front of his eyes first, before the darkness came closing in on him. He felt like he was dying.

His nostrils flared just as he thought this was the end of him and he took a panicked and painful first breath, inhaling as deeply as he could under the circumstances, doing what he could not to faint. His lungs burned.

When the parallelization broke he hurriedly began to search the pockets of his travelling cloak with numb, trembling fingers for one of those little flasks he had hidden in there for emergencies just like this.

He could feel his throat closingagain and the panic was relentlessly washing over him still. He didn’t know how long he could take it.

He heard the blood rushing in his ears and his vision became weak again, black and white flashes appearing in his gaze. His eyes were widened and burned, tears threatening he knew, and his heart was ready to jump out of his chest by now. He finally found the flask then, his numb fingers fumbled out the stopper. He slammed the little vial onto his lips, almost chipping his teeth in the process, and greedily gulped down the dark blue liquid.

He welcomed the soft warmth that immediately started to spread through his body and mind with a deep sigh and he sank back into his seat, closing his eyes in relief.

He hated this. All of this.

Draco opened his eyes again when the train finally came to stop at Hogsmeade train station.

He listened to the sound of a dozen or more wizards and witches more or less quietly exiting the train, softly talking to each other. So, it was not just dark outside, but it appeared to be late too, Draco thought exhaustedly.

The village of Hogsmeade lay there silently and in darkness behind the sparsely illuminated train station and the new arrivals made as little noise as they could it seemed, looking all more or less as sleepyas the village appeared to be.

Draco was the last one to exit the train, keeping his distance to the main crowd. He was calmer now, but felt even more drained then before. He all but dragged his feet while the straps of his small backpack were trying to slide down his heavy shoulders again and again. He barely noticed.

He stepped onto the platform of the train station and felt even more lost then before. The other passengers had started their way into the village or were heading up to the castle already.

It was early June, but the night still felt rather cold to Draco. He had become sensitive to temperature lately though, so who’s to say… Didn’t care.

Draco had been told that Hogsmeade was full of volunteers now and getting a room anywhere would be difficult. He didn't even try to get one of course. No one in their right mind would consider to rent him a room, especially not if they could rent it to one of the volunteers.

There were just a handful of rooms for rent now anyway and the rest of the volunteers had to stay in the castle, the same as Draco.

 

Draco Malfoy slowly dragged himself up the trail that lead to the school, with his body feeling heavier with every step he took towards the huge building. The potion helped with the nerves at least and he felt quite numb, for now at least. This always was the best part of it, he knew. Coming down from it was another story entirely.

He tried to concentrate on the little things now so he wouldn’t accidentally think about where he was going. He looked at the dark grass with the dew glittering on the billions of tiny blades, like perfect little crystals or freshly shed tears that reflected the faint light of the moon like stars of their own. He listened to the soft rustling noise the wind made, playing with leaves and branches. He smelled the flowery sweet, but heavy scent of his blossoming surroundings too, but it all fell flat against the knowledge of how it used to be, how it used to enchant him the loveliness of a summer night like this. It all felt dull and bleak and sad and soulless now. It didn’t matter, had no meaning and the superior beauty of nature was gone. Draco watched his surroundings with apathy.

That was until his gaze slid over the entrance of the castle, so very near now already. The last of the volunteers slipped through the enormous doors and only one single person stood in front of them any more now. He recognized the them immediately, even in the dull light. He had feared this confrontation greatly, but he was standing too close now, to turn and run like he wanted to.

Draco's steps grew slowerand slower but he managed to keep on walking to his own surprise. She had fixed her gaze steadily on him, he knew that, because he could feel her eyes boring into him like shards of glass. Draco shuddered under the knowing gaze of the headmistress.

He came to stand a few meters in front of her now, not looking at her, but fixing his gaze on his feet.

"Headmistress.", He said with a raspy voice he barely recognized as his own. His throat still felt sore. He nervously licked his lips.

"Mister Malfoy.", McGonagall replied flatly. He quickly looked up at her then and down again at his feet. She looked older, worn out, tired. Just like himself, he thought. But the way she looked at him was still the same it had been... before.

She had never been a warm person to him and he had in a way respected her for it, but… There was no palpable hostility or anger or judgement in her eyes now, as she looked at him. It felt surreal. A bit like he was an innocent first year first year with a clean slate. It felt wrong.

Did he not deserve all these things from her of all people? With her being one of those who had to watch him do those terrible things to her beloved students? He had degraded her very own person even. How did she not just hate him? How did she have the strength to not curse him into the next life? How could she possibly agree to welcome him back into the castle? Did he not deserve her hostility and judgement and the righteous anger Gryffindors were so famous for?

He felt bare and dirty under her knowing eyes, so very dirty and had a sudden overwhelming urge to clean himself, wash the blood off his hands. He shuddered helplessly and felt his anxiety levels rise up again despite the potion. He could not pass out. He could not pass out right here, right now, right in front of her. He could not.

The headmistress stepped closer and lay a thin hand on his shoulder then, ignoring his flinching at the touch.

"Come with me, Mister Malfoy. I will escort you to the right floor.", the slender woman said, her voice a bit softer then before, as she proceeded to direct him through the corridors like he’d never been in the castle before. She hadn’t waited for him to nod and he had said no word either, had not looked up at her again.

Draco felt himself sinking in a dream like state, not really noticing much around him as they walked through empty halls and corridors and up the staircases in silence.

"As I’m sure you’re aware, Mister Malfoy, the castle has been badly damaged and although we have been doing our very best to rebuild it, have started on that task almost immediately after the battle, most of it still lays in ruins, I’m afraid. There are but a few rooms that can be considered habitable at the moment.", she explained, sounding strained, nervous even.Draco stayed quiet.

The tall woman stopped in her tracks then as they arrived at a rather slender and dark corridor with a dead end, that Draco did not recognize. To be honest, he had not noticed where exactly they had went, but this part of the castle did not look familiar to him at all. I could be one of the older parts of the school he assumed, that had not been used for a few decades or so. The castle was a gigantic, complex building after all and someone who said they knew all of it was simply a liar.

"You will have to share your room, Mister Malfoy. It is the last door down the hall on the left. You brought all that you need, just as you were told to, I presume?", she asked stiffly. He didn't look at her.

"Yes.", he replied almost in a whisper.

"I'll leave you to it, then.", she said. "Breakfast is at he usual time and place. Good night, Mister Malfoy.", she said and with that she turned around and left him standing in the dark corridor.

It was late now. Very late, in fact. He could almost feel it in his bones. The person he would have to share the room with would be long asleep by now. He silently walked down the corridor and took care to make no noise as he opened the door to the room. He stepped in and closed the door behind him gently, just standing at he door there for a moment. The room was dark with only the sparse moonlight falling through the high set windows. Draco took in his surroundings quietly and was unsurprised to find that the room he was supposed to share was one of those long forgotten, old and very dusty classrooms, that must have been used as a storage room for discarded desks and chairs and things like that in the last one or two decade or so. So most of the space of the large room was occupied by what appeared to be mostly broken furniture, but where once must have been the first row of student desks now was a small clearing, where things had apparently been shoved aside to make space. Further to the old black board to the right side of the door, the broken furniture started piling up again though. The space in between was small. A slender figure lay there curled up underneath a blanket on the floor on the left side of the clearing, softly breathing and unmoving, with its back turned.

Draco decided to make himself a place to sleep on the opposite side of the small clearing, a bit closer to the darkened windows and further from the door too. He tiptoed to the place he’d set his eyes on, carefully not making a sound. But with his bad luck of course, he tripped half way over something laying on the floor and proceeded to fall to the ground with a loud thump. His backpack slid off his shoulders and scatteredDraco’s belongings all over the floor.

He felt the blood rush to his cheeks in embarrassment and then drain from his face in half the time, as he remembered why it was a very bad idea to introduce himself this to his new room mate like this. They would die of a heart attack if they found a Death Eater sneaking into their room in the middle of the night. Draco would have to explain the body to the headmistress the next morning, who was not gonna be impressed. Nor would the ministry be.

Draco got up as quickly as he could, reflexively and uselessly clutching at the wand in his pocket, while leaving his things strewn across the floor. He stared in shock at the person he had startled with the noise he’d made and who had sat up on their bunk in less then the blink of an eye, already pointing an illuminated wand at Draco’s heart, who froze in place, staring at that person. their pale face was lit by the wands light as well as Draco’s own. 

Up at him stared a shocked looking boy with shaggy black hair, almost chalk white skin, that looked like it was drained of all blood it might previously have possessed. With widened, blazing green eyes, that felt like they were piercing through Draco’s very soul, he stared at Draco through the askew lyingglasses on his nose. And of course there was that scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightening bolt. He looked ill though. Far too thin, much too pale and very, very tired. Draco had never seen him in such bad condition before and that was saying something. He was horrified at the sight, truly horrified. But of course that was not the only reason he was horrified. No, most of all he was horrified because across from him sat Harry fucking Potter on the floor there and stared at him, his nemesis sincethe day they met, almost. Not even mentioning the wand that was currently pointed at Draco.

'Who's fucking brilliant ideas was this? Having us sleep in a room together?', Draco thought scandalized, trying to summon some righteous rage in his mind to make himself feel like he cared about a thing. The headmistress had known of course. She had set this up.

He still stood there, not moving and neither did Potter. And for a brief moment, he felt like the Gryffindor saw right through him then, like he knew Draco’s every thought and feeling, understood him completely and to Draco's absolute astonishment he felt a powerful rush of relief flooding through him and he felt alive for the first time in what felt like an eternity, even if it was just for the blink of an eye. This would have scared him to death under normal circumstances, because how could be possibly feel relieved while feeling so very exposed at the same time in front of the other boys impossibly green eyes? The boy who was his rival, who had been his enemy for long, long years now.

Had he not taken the calming potion before, he probably would have passed out just at the sight of the others face. But the potion had really kick in now and on top of that, he was tired as hell and a quick death didn’t sound too bad either.

Draco was the first one to shake off his parallelization then and with that he shut out Potter. He pulled up his mask of indifference and his his inner turmoil. Admittedly, it took all the strength he had left in him. It was a quick, but most painful process. To be perfectly honest, it was the most painful it had ever been for Draco to shut someone out, to get back into seclusion, to isolate himself from the world. He had to forcefully drag himself back into that well known hidden place inside of him, to the solitude and isolation behind his mental shields where nobody could reach him, but somehow it felt like a far too small space for him to be in now.

Still he did it, because he had to.

"Potter.", Draco said plainly and with an astonishingly even voice. He nodded curtly in Potter’s direction with a carefully blank expression on his face, before turning and quickly walking to the small place where he had decided to lay down for the night. He ignored all the things that he had scattered on the floor, just left them where they had fallen. He couldn't care less.

He almost ripped his travel cloak as he tried to take it off, his back turned to Potter rather symbolically, then placing the far too thin piece of clothing carelessly on the dusty floor before him and laying down on it awkwardly. The floor was hard, but at least the cloak prevented Draco to some degree from having to constantly inhale dust while breathing. He still had his back to Potter and that didn't feel comfortable at all, but he would not have been comfortable facing him either. So this was what he chose to do. He lay there unmoving.

After a while he heard Potter lay back quietly, not moving after that either.

The minutes crept by, turning into hours. Neither one of the boys moved. Neither one of them even closed their eyes.


	2. Hanging On

"You know we can't get away

Because I'm calling your name  
Every day I feel this pain  
But you just turn and walk away

I just can't keep hanging on  
To you and me  
I just don't know what is wrong  
With you and me

Touch me and then turn away  
Put your hands into the flame  
Tell me if you feel this pain  
'cause I don't want to be your ball and chain

I just can't keep hanging on  
To you and me  
I just don't know what is wrong  
With you and me  
With you and me..."

 

["Hanging on" by Active Child](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B-OoisekXIA)

 

* * *

 

Harry

Harry was tired, but it felt like this was a permanent condition now. Not a condition he could ever get used to maybe, but nothing out of the ordinary either. (He still noticed it though and wasn’t that supposed to be a good thing?) Even before and of course during the war he had had trouble resting, not to mention sleeping. But now that the war was finally over, he felt like things got even worse. How could that be true though? He had fought in a war he never wanted to fight and – to his own surprise, honestly – had won the bloody battle and survived it too – in a way at least. Yes, he had fulfilled his destiny and now was free to follow his own desires, wasn’t he? He was free to do what ever he wanted now. Unlike so, so many others, who had left their lives in battle. Many of who had left their lives for Harry himself, to help him achieve what only he could achieve in the end. Well, if you believe in prophecies that was. Harry wasn't sure at all about that though. In his opinion anyone could have gone out hunting those damned Horcruxes and anyone could have cursed Riddle into oblivion afterwards. So why was it that all those tasks had been given to him of all people? But he wasn't going to think about that now. He wasn't gonna think of all the lives wasted in war. He wasn't gonna think of all the blood spilled, the innocence that had been spoiled. He was not gonna think of all the sacrifices others had made for him. He was gonna ignore the blood on his own hands, that he was trying so vigorously to wash off of them. He looked down at his hands, wrenching them uselessly and just allowing the cold water wash over them. It did nothing to sooth him.

He had stood there at that bathroom sink for about twenty minutes now, but the dirt just wouldn't come off. The shame and guilt, the blood, it stayed on there, on his skin, had sunken too deep into his pores already. He seemed to be the only one able to see it. He shivered.

It was colder then it should have been this time of the year. It made Harry think of dementors. Of fear and hopelessness. He smelled the stench of death still, tasted the coppery taste of blood in his mouth again, felt it run down his skin too, saw all the bruises and the gaping wounds in front of his minds eye. He shuddered rather violently this time, unable to break away from those memories.

His hands were reddened from the extended washing and the coldness of the water, but he didn't care. Not at all. There were sore, almost raw spots on his hands here and there that just wouldn't heal, but then again, he wouldn't let them anyway. This was his guilt shining through the skin. This was how it was supposed to be.

Harry sighed. He had to go now. He had to grab something to eat before the dinner was over. He might not have cared for eating all that much or ‘maintaining his health’ as McGonagall called it, but his old Head of House – now Headmistress – had noticed and had threatened to institutionalize him against his will, if he didn't take care of himself. She was one of very few people left in this world who's threats meant anything to him any more. Probably because she was one of the few people who would actually carry them out. And the last thing he wanted right now, was to become one of those hopeless cases that got trapped in a psych ward somewhere. Not that there was something that was wrong with getting ones self help, but it was different for him.

If he wanted it or not, he was a special case, always would be perhaps. He couldn't just tell his secrets to a stranger. He didn't trust any doctor and who would, when his secrets spilled to the Daily Prophet would be rewarded with more gold then anyone could ever spend in two lifetimes or three? There would be no downside in giving up the profession of a therapist or psychiatrist, mind healeror what ever, if you wouldn't have to work ever again after that, would there?And all the secrets he still had to keep, for everybody’s safety really. Secrets about Horcruxes and Deathly Hallows and Secret Chambers and what not. So no, it just wasn’t possible. He simply wasn’t a good enough liar to fill in the gaps those dangerous topics would leave and make his story believable still. Not even with leaving out the juicy parts… Ah, no one would believe him anyway.

It was even worse then that though, because he couldn’t go to a muggle doctor either of course. The things he would have to tell them (stories of magic and all), would guarantee him a place in a secure facility for the rest of his life. And he knew he was far too exhausted not to slip up with lies. He hated lies.

Anyway. He didn't wanna tell anyone anything anyway. Yes, that were a lot of 'anys'. Harry was aware of that. Did not care.

So it was just Harry. He would have to be the one that would have to help himself out of this, to make it though this shit, like he always had. Or he wouldn't.

He wasn't so sure any more if there still was a point in 'making it through' now. No, he wasn't sure about that at all. He had done his job now, hadn't he? He had saved them all. That's what they were saying at least. The story was a different one in his opinion, but who cared about that? Yeah.

Now that he had done all of that though, he wasn't really needed for anything any more, was he? Other then to pose for pictures for the newspapers and biographies, that were undoubtedly already in writing, of course. He didn't think about those kind of things though. Did his very best not to in fact.

Harry knew he was slowly losing it. He didn’t know how anybody could miss it really, but most people didn’t seem to notice and that was probably a good thing. He knew he wasn’t actually ‘alone’ with these things in the strictest way of that word either. There were other ‘lost ones’ and people who were trying to understand or even help, as useless as that seemed to be in his opinion. There were… Well, there of course always would be his best friends and… There were the rest of the Weasleys too, he assumed. Some other people too. But Harry couldn’t bother any of them with what was happening in his head. He had no right to disturb them and didn’t want to anyway. They couldn’t help him now. He was alone in the truest meaning of the word.

Harry was gonna eat something tonight. Like the lost soul he felt like, unseen by others, he snuck through the corridors, down the stairs to the Great Hall. Under the invisibility cloak he felt a rare sense of security and the calming warmth and tranquillity of relief as well sometimes. He felt less like himself and more like himself at the same time as strange as that might be. Under the cloak he hadn't have to put on a show, hadn’t to pretend that he was fine. He didn't have to talk or listen or answer questions. He could escape the stares and piercing cries for autographs and photos and the excessive ‘thanks’ for a while. It was a small freedom, but freedom no less he presumed.

 

The great hall was almost empty now. The last people sitting at the tables were just talking now, for the pure sake of talking, connecting, being together it seemed. Harry walked up to the closest table from the door, careful not to come too close to anybody and quickly stole some of the food off the table, before turning around and slipping out of the hall again. His tired feet took him straight to his little living quarters in the furthest corner of the castle. Living quarters, that was a euphemism of course.

Headmistress McGonagall had appointed Harry an old classroom to stay in, that had been unused for at least the past two decades, but had barely seen any damaged in the fights. It turned out to be a large room that had clearly been used as a storage room for old and broken desks and chairs and things that apparently weren’t worth repairing any more, before the existence of them had completely been forgotten. And didn’t Harry fit into that perfectly, he had thought to himself.

McGonagall had told him that he could transfigure the room to his liking and make himself at home as best as he could. Harry didn't care about that. He had no home. He didn't care about the thick dust on every surface either, the spider webs all around, nor the discarded furniture that was stocked so high it had barely left any room to breath. He had worked to create a small clearing in the middle of it all at the height of the door, where he had then spread out some thin mattress on the floor that he had found in one of the old and rather badly damaged professors sleeping quarters the very first day. He had put some blankets on there as well and used an old jumper as a pillow. That was it. It was still a much better place to sleep then the old cupboard under the stairs at the Dursley's, that was for sure. He still was used to modest living conditions; didn't need much at all. And anyway, this was just a place to sleep. Besides, he didn't sleep very much, so why the hell should he care at all?

But this had become his little hiding place in no time then. It was more then enough for hiding though, so what did it matter that it wasn’t ‘homey’ exactly?

 His first night here he had surrounded himself with at least as many protection and privacy wards as they had while they were out on Horcrux hunt and in hiding. He just didn’t feel safe without them any more. But then he had found out that no one other then him actually ever came this way anyway. Not many people even seemed to know of this rather secluded area of the castle and he couldn’t fault them for that, because he himself hadn’t known this place existed either. The map had stayed blank as well when it should have shown him and these very real corridors and rooms. The marauders would have been ecstatic to discover all of this new space and all its hidden secrets. Harry couldn’t care less. But the thought that they didn’t get that chance still hurt. He tried not to think about it.

He had never met anyone in the corridors surrounding his hiding place and he couldn't shake the thought that Professor McGonagall had picked this place for him especially because of that and he couldn't thank her enough for it. He didn't talk to her all that much though other then about the work they did here, so he usually just thought that bit about being thankful. He didn't talk to anyone really, for that matter. Not even to Hagrid. Good old Hagrid who was very preoccupied with his half brother Grawp. And even if he wasn’t, Harry didn't want to intrude or something. He knew Hagrid wouldn't see it that way and to be honest, he’d always enjoyed Harry's visits in the past, he knew, but Harry didn't really feel like it lately. He didn't feel like doing anything, to be honest. So Harry kept to himself as much as he could.

His daily work with the repair teams were stressing enough in his opinion. He never could wait to get away from the group already. Yes, he had chosen to help, had been one of the first ones to do so really, but he didn't like that the volunteers always tried make the whole thing some nice group activity, some fun stuff that they did together. This was not a new, fun little hobby to Harry. This was war reparations. They didn’t understand that of course.

So as soon as Harry had learned the basics, he had more and more secluded himself from the group and developed his own specialized charms and spells to fix things in the castle. It had turned out that he actually enjoyed the work when he did it on his own and got really good at it in very little time. So good in fact, that McGonagall now chose to appoint him to the most difficult parts of the old castle, that most of the others wouldn’t be able to fix, even as a group. He jumped from one part of the castle to the next and was less and less obliged to interact with others. Though, he was asked for advice a lot now. He didn't like that, but it wasn’t new either. It felt like all those times before when people had tried to make him their example, which was stupid of course, but nothing new. He was no teacher though, he was no superior either and he didn't want to be. He didn’t know things they couldn't come up with on their own if they really tried to. He wasn't better then anyone else in his opinion. He just tried more and had developed a knack for fixing things in the process.

And Harry didn't much bother think about how something looked in the end and didn't care for artistic things and stuff like that. He was a practical guy. He fixed things up, made them work again, but he couldn't care less about things looking nice and pretty. This wasn't a stupid arts program where he would have to try and conjure the most beautiful wall in history – unlike what some of the volunteers apparently seemed to think. No, he just fixed those bloody walls and made new doors, fixed crumbling ceilings and floors and things, fixed spells that had been in place before too and all of that and was done with it then. He had never bothered to transfigure the nicest door handle in history of doorhandles.

Other volunteers on the other hand got so lost in making Hogwarts beautiful sometimes, that they didn't fix much at all in the end. It was a bit like painting the nails of a gutted and flayed corpse. Not just damn morbid, but utterly useless as well. In Harry's opinion this was why the process of repairing the castle was so very slow going. He had talked to the Headmistress about it once, but she had just given him an apologetic little smile and nodded. 'Yes.', she had said. 'That might be part of the problem, but at least people still liked to come and help and have the chance to make the castle more personal. I think that's a good thing, don't you?' She had said and that if she forbade them to ‘make things more beautiful', most of them would get bored very quickly.

Harry found that all rather ridiculous and useless, but he had had nothing more helpful to say about that and he liked not being in charge, so that had been the only time he mentioned it.

Harry reached the door of his secluded hiding place now and was unpleasantly surprised to find an envelope laying on the doorstep. This meant that someone had been here and he didn't like that. Didn't like that at all. He picked it up with a scowl and a deep frown, then checked on his wards, which thankfully seemed to be absolutely untouched. He hurried inside then, closing the door behind him and scanned the room for changes anyway.

The wards were supposed to keep people from entering the room in his absence and they seemed not to have been breached, yes. At least, that was what it looked like at first sight. He was suspicious of the calm and usual peacefulness of the room now though. He felt unsafe even though he was rather sure there was no real reason for that. He felt like being watched.

When he finally deemed it save enough, he moved to his small mattress on the dusty floor and his blankets and sat down on them with a sigh. But no, this wasn't the right place for him at this moment. He stood up again, bones aching, muscles feeling sore, and moved to one of the few high set windows in the room, that began about where his shoulders stood.

He climbed up there to sit on the broad, stony window sill. He pulled his legs close to his body and looked through the dirty window down over a wide part of school grounds. His view even went as far as to the Hogsmeade train station and the village.

Harry slowly fumbled open the envelope then, pulling out a plain piece of parchment with dark blue handwriting on it. It read:

"Dear Mister Potter,

Because there still is very little space that could be rated as habitable in Hogwarts Castle, I had no choice but to assign you a room mate, who you will have to share your living quarters with from now on and until the start of the new school year, if you chose to stay that long. I hope you will adjust to the change and keep up your good work.

Sincerely,

Headmistress McGonagall"

Harry let his head fall against the dirty window pane and sighed deeply. Of course this would happen to him. He was nothing special any more and he didn't want to be. But he also didn't want to share this little space that had slowly but surely given him a bit of comfort, a small sense of safety even, he had to admit.

But now someone would be invading his little place and he was not at all happy about it. Not at all.

Wasn’t there some place else this new volunteer could stay at? Presumably there even were numerous other rooms on this very floor that could be inhabited. Not that Harry had checked, but why should this be the only unscathed room on the floor? For fucks sake, he would even voluntarily fix them all if that would help him keep this person out of his room!

But McGonagall was a person who always did things for a reason and didn't easily change her mind, he knew. It would be an utter waste of time and energy to try and make her change the decision she had made. Which was nothing he fancied doing. So, he didn't even try it. He would have to accept those changes and make the best of it, just like she had instructed him to in her letter. At least she had told him about what was gonna happen (unlike some other people used to do). He appreciated that. As would any ignorant person entering this room, for Harry would have hexed them into oblivion before they even had the chance to take that first step into this little sanctum of his. Hex them now, ask questions later, yes? Well, that was what the war had made of him. He didn’t like it either.

McGonagall always did things for a reason though. But for all Harry knew, that reason could just be to royally piss him off. It didn't matter now anyway. He didn't want to cause problems and hated it when people made a fuss about him. He wanted to be treated just like everybody else and that consisted of sharing a room it seemed.

The volunteers that came from all over the world to try and help fix up the castle which still lay in ruins for the most part, where thoroughly checked and evaluated by the Headmistress and some aurors as far as he knew. So one would think that he didn't have to fear anything really. In theory at least. (Let’s not forget about teachers with turbans and a certain dark wizard in the back of their skull, people under polyjuice, basilisks and all of that rot...)

But Harry wasn't one to let anybody sneak up on him anyway, so he stayed awake, waited for his new room mate. He just hoped it would be someone he didn't know, someone quiet, who would keep to themselves and bloody fuck, not ask for an autograph! Or photos or an interview or anything else really. A toothbrush Harry might be willing to help with, but he’d prefer not to.

The night became darker and colder soon, while Harry sat on the window sill unmoving and indifferent to the change. He had opened one half of the window to have a better look over the school grounds, to be able to see when the Hogwarts Express arrived.

It was at least two or three in the morning when the train did finally arrive and small groups of people exited the Express and started to make their way down to the village of Hogsmeade or went up the trail to the castle.

Harry slid down the sill now, closing the window and shut the old blinds. Shutting out most of the faint moon light with it as well. The room was almost pitch black now, no candles were lit for Harry always felt safer staying in the shadows. It gave him an advantage as well.

He lay down on his mattress on the floor, averted to the door and covered himself with a blanket. He wasn't gonna close his eyes though and would never he let go of his wand. He put up some simple wards just around the small form of his body on the mattress and then he waited. Having had dismantled most of the wards on and around the room in the past few hours or so, to let the new arrival in, had left him rather uneasy.

Harry had to wait for much longer then he had anticipated and his heart was beating heavily in his chest and fear slowly crept up on him. He tried hard to ignore those unpleasant feelings that pulsed through his veins and made sweat break out on his skin.

He hadn’t taken his glasses off of course and he was glad to have them on his nose so very reassuringly. He would have been much more vulnerable without them and everybody knew it.

 

Finally he heard the door open, almost silently, but Harry was on high alert and had observed the faint sound of footsteps on the floor very closely, his wand clutched tightly in his hand, always at the ready.

He lay there unmoving still. There was nothing to fear. This was not a hostile situation.

He listened to the door closing, the soft steps of the new arrival slowly making it across the room to the other corner of the clearing Harry had created between the discarded furniture. And then Harry was startled by a sudden loud thump, instantly shooting up from his small mattress, jerking around to face the noisy intruder, his raised and now brightly lit wand threateningly pointing at their heart.

The person who had obviously tripped over something laying on the ground, had spilled their belongings on the floor it seemed and had already gotten up almost before Harry had turned around to face them and that would have struck Harry as impressive had he been in any condition to think clearly.

Now they stood there only two or three meters away from Harry, looking like a deer caught in headlights, completely unmoving. Shock widened grey eyes stared at Harry in what appeared to be utter disbelieve, vulnerable at last. It took Harry's brains a second to realize, that he did in fact knew this person before him. He had known them for a good part of his life to be exact. But in this moment he, for the first time, saw someone else… something else in his old school rivals’ and once supposed nemesis’ body. He had seen him vulnerable before, yes, he did remember that very clearly, but never like this. Looking at him now Harry saw such an overwhelming fear, such a deep sadness and excruciating pain in those grey eyes staring back at him, that he knew he should be looking away and yet he was utterly unable to. And then there was this longing that lingered in the other boys eyes, the pure intensity of it, yearning that was so palpable it frightened Harry. Where once had stood a proud and strong Slytherin, the famous Malfoy heir, now stood a boy that looked so lost and shattered and broken by guilt it tore at Harry’s heart. Draco Malfoy was just a boy trying to find his way to redemption. And he looked at Harry so utterly defenceless, that Harry didn't know how to react, feeling just the same.

Malfoy didn’t just look pale, he looked sick, more dead then alive really. His cheeks were hollowed out, his eyes sunken in, with dark shades surrounding them. His hair was not slicked back, like he used to wear it for… Well, fro as long as Harry had known him. It hung in lose strands around his face now, down onto his skinny shoulders. It had lost its mesmerizing bright colour that the other boy had been so famous for and instead appeared to be almost grey, like it’s been powdered with ashes. There were wrinkles of sorrow carved into Malfoy's gaunt face and his lips where almost as pale as the rest of his skin, like they were trying to disappear. Harry shivered inwardly at the unexpected sight. It frightened him how much the other boy had changed.

Malfoy didn’t just look pale, he looked sick, more dead then alive really. His cheeks were hollowed out, his eyes sunken in, with dark shades surrounding them. His hair was not slicked back, like he used to wear it for… Well, fro as long as Harry had known him. It hung in lose strands around his face now, down onto his skinny shoulders. It had lost itsmesmerizingbright colour that the other boy had been so famous for and instead appeared to be almost grey, like it’s been powdered with ashes. There were wrinkles of sorrow carved into Malfoy's gaunt face and his lips where almost as pale as the rest of his skin, like they were trying to disappear. Harry shivered inwardly at the unexpected sight. It frightened him how much the other boy had changed. Harry himself probably didn’t look much better either, he knew, but it wasn’t just Malfoy’s face that had changed either, he realized then. The blondes whole body posture was different. He looked not at all like himself. Not at all like the person Harry had once thought to have known. This was a different person in front of him, clearly. He was sure of it, and still… he was the same. Maybe Harry just saw him - for the first time - just the way he truly was? Just the way he'd always secretly been? It was an odd thought to have and it scared Harry. Could it be that he had missed all of that? Could it be that he had never really known his rival?

The other boy was the first to move then, while Harry still pointed his lit wand at him. Harry watched utterly horrified as a painful look washed over Draco Malfoy's face, followed by a well known facade of indifference that failed to cover up his pained gaze. It was like watching him pull up that mask with bruised and broken fingers, using his very last reserves of strength to shut him, Harry, out. It hurt to watch.

"Potter.", Malfoy said flatly, curtly inclining his head at Harry as if to acknowledge his presence, before clearly deliberately walking very carefully and slowly to the furthest end of the small clearing in the middle of the room. The things that had fallen out his luggage when he had fallen, still littered the floor, but Malfoy just ignored them, obviously trying to put some distance between himself and Harry as quickly as possible. Harry watched -still rather shocked- as Malfoy almost ripped his travelling cloak in a try to get out of it, before throwing it on the floor and carefully laying down on top of it. It looked like he was using his almost empty backpack as a pillow, his back turned to Harry.

 And Harry still sat there frozen on his small mattress, staring at the Slytherin boy, not quite believing what had just happened. Draco bloody Malfoy had just entered this room. He now lay there on the fucking floor in the dust, mere meters from Harry. He could even hear him breath.

'Comfort and safety my arse!', Harry thought. This was no longer his save hiding space, that much was for sure. This was now the room he had to share with his school bully, his rival, the room he never could ever feel safe in again. Like...ever! How was it Malfoy had the power to take this clearly needed secure place from him? Why would McGonagall let this happen? He had thought, that she understood his need for solitude, but obviously he had made a huge mistaken thinking that. Or did the Headmistress… Did she want him to keep an eye on the Slytherin? Because _tha_ _t_ was not at all what he had signed up for here! He had not agreed to this and especially without having been told… And here he’d been thinking that the new Headmistress would -unlike others- not try to meddle with his life and would not lie to him so blatantly.

But how else would she come to the conclusion that it would be a good idea for them to have to share a frigging room? Well, she had never said anything about this to Harry and that was just wrong. So, what exactly was the hidden agenda here? ‘Cause there always was one. A hidden agenda, that was. It just had not yet revealed itself to Harry.

Harry did not like McGonagall treated him like a stupid schoolboy, when he had done so much to earn himself the title of being an adult. This simply was not fair. There had to be done something here, he just wasn’t sure what it was yet.

'Nox', Harry thought and the light on his wand went out. He lay down quietly, his back turned to Malfoy, just like the other boy had done. And wasn’t that strange?

He cautiously listened to Malfoy's breathing, staring into the blackness of the room. His mind was uneasy and restless, his body tense as he lay there rather rigidly, moving as little as possible.

Harry felt the time tick by slowly with the useless knowledge in the back of his mind, that he should probably try to get some sleep before another long day started, when in reality the possibility didn’t even occur to him.

He wondered about the other boy though. Was he sleeping? No, Harry didn't think so, that would have been rather stupid and if he knew one thing about Malfoy then it was that the Slytherin was not stupid. What had happened to him though? Why was he so very different? And why was he here?


	3. Spiral Staircases

 "Been traveling these wide roads for so long  
My heart’s been far from you  
Ten-thousand miles gone

Oh, I wanna come near and give ya  
Every part of me  
But there's blood on my hands  
And my lips aren’t clean

In my darkness I remember

 Momma’s words reoccur to me  
"Surrender to the good Lord  
And he’ll wipe your slate clean"

 Take me to your river  
I wanna go  
Oh, go on  
Take me to your river  
I wanna know

Tip me in your smooth waters  
I go in  
As a man with many crimes  
Come up for air  
As my sins flow down the Jordan

Oh, I wanna come near and give ya  
Every part of me  
But there's blood on my hands  
And my lips aren’t clean

 Take me to your river  
I wanna go  
Go on,  
Take me to your river  
I wanna know

I wanna go, wanna go, wanna go..."

 

["River" by Leon Bridges](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Hegd4xNfRo)

* * *

 

Draco

Through the cracks and holes in the old wooden window shutters, the first few gleams of early morning sunlight fell, illuminating the dust that was lazily dancing through the air, painting small circles onto the shabby wooden floor. Draco had observed the change in light for hours now. He felt like he had never before taken that much notice of especially the smaller differences that were now so clearly visible to him, and he probably really hadn't. Well, he’d never taken the time to and why would he? Now all he had was time.

Draco was very much aware of the fact that neither he nor Potter had slept this night at all. They hadn’t even bothered to fake it for neither oneof them trusted the other and they both knew it. There was a silent understanding about this it appeared. It would have been utterly careless, reckless, absolutely stupid of them to close their eyes and give in to sleep. So, they simply hadn't. They’d both lain there, barely moving at all,impatiently waiting for the sun to come up once again, waiting for that proper justification to finally get up again and leave that cursed room. Flee - more like it, but they were both still too proud to give in and run it seemed.

To be honest, Draco had been a bit surprised to realize that he still cared about ‘losing face’ by turning tail then, even if it would have only been Potter witnessing it. Sadly enough though, he had to admit at least to himself that it was most likely _especially_ because it was him. So yes, of course Draco could simply have run when he realized who exactly he’d be sharing this room with, but no, he couldn’t do it. He’d done enough running for a lifetime too.

 Draco craved fresh air now, needed some space to breath. He felt caged in this little space he shared with Potter. He did his best not to let his anxiety win, keeping his breathing as calm and steady as he possibly could, but the brighter the daylight outside got, the more restless he became internally. He wasn't gonna show that though, no he could not. He had slipped up enough last night. He could not show himself to be so vulnerable in front of people. Especially if their name was Harry bleeding Potter and had all the reason in the world to cause him harm, to retaliate for Draco’s wrong doings. It was a good thing he had an almost inexhaustible stock of calming draughts in that secret pocket in his backpack. He’d been lucky enough that it hadn't ripped open that night, when he’d spilled the other contents of his baggage, exposing him as…Well, he wasn’t quite an addict yet, but very well on his way there, he knew.

They still lay there on the floor between himself and Potter, his things. Draco found that wasn't actually that bad a thing though. In case that he’d accidentally drift into a light slumber after all, that gave him a good chance of noticing Potter trying to sneak up. Why would he do that though? Potter had a wand after all. This was the moment Draco had to acknowledge, that it was quite disadvantageous that he hadn't slept at all the past three night and the night before that he’d slept not more then three short hours, interrupted by countless, less then pleasant dreams that had come far too close to his actual memories for his liking. His brain obviously wasn't adapt to that kind of treatment even now and appeared to develop some serious retrenchments in retaliation. And wasn’t that sad.

Draco had to suppress a yawn then and thought about taking a quick look at his pocket watch, but immediately dismissed the need to learn the exact time as not nearly important enough, because of the almost audible snapping noise the watch made when being opened, which could quite possibly disrupt the silence. You couldn't be too careful with Potter laying in the same room. He probably still clutched his wand in his hands, Draco thought inwardly cringing. Draco on the other hand hadn't pulled out his wand at all, even though he had every reason to. If the other boy felt like hexing him, Draco wouldn’t resist. He would not fight back.

He deserved it after all and wouldn’t it be a gracious end for him to die at the hands of the ‘wizarding worlds saviour’, the ‘golden boy’, the one and only Harry James Potter? Yeah.

And anyway, that useless piece of wood he’d once called his wand wasn’t gonna be any help in a fight, so no last fight between them and Potter wasn’t the kind to kill an unarmed man. No, that was not gonna happen any time soon. Potter would not kill him right now. Not because he had somehow developed any kind feelings towards Draco of course or had buried his grudges against him, no, but because of his appalling ‘Gryffindor honour’. Draco knew the other boy well enough be able to say that much for certain. Other then that though Draco wasn't so sure any more that the boy he’d thought to once have known still existed. Of if he even ever had. Somehow.

But those were much too deep thoughts to be had at this hour of the day. Or at any hour of the day, for that matter. Where did this even come from all of a sudden? But Draco wasn't gonna have it, he wasn’t gonna think about that. He did in fact _not_ wonder at all about the sodding ‘boy who lived', because he shouldn't (and did not!) care.

It must have been about five or five thirty in the morning now, Draco guessed. And he had always been one of the first to rise, everybody knew that. That was really all the excuse he needed to escape this damn prison he had confined himself to, he decided. He was gonna leave.

Of course he knew that the part of getting up was critical, so he made sure to keep his movements slow and steady, to make no sudden noises like he had that night. He was not gonna provoke a reaction from the Gryffindor that Draco would probably not be able to handle without the use of his wand.

Draco stood up slowly now, ignoring his scattered belongings on the floor and carefully avoided stepping on any of them on his way to the door. He opened it as quietly as he could, slipped through it silently, before closing it behind himself again. Standing in the corridor he sighed in relief, taking deep breaths and felt like the air was so much better then it had been inside the old classroom. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. But it smelled deliciously of freedom.

After only five minutes of searching for a way down, Draco had to admit to himself that he was utterly and rather hopelessly lost. Having resided in a fair number of large and often maze-like buildings in his life, that was an accomplishment. He secretly wondered how it was even possible to have lived in this castle for that many years already and yet had never even stepped into this part of it. It looked quite a lot different then most other parts he knew and seemed to be even older then the rest of it all, if that was possible. The corridors were slimmer, more crooked, uneven and draughty. If his bladder would not have been determined to burst any moment now, he would have found this unknown part of the castle absolutely fascinating for sure, rather loveable, endearing even maybe. But the only thing he really wanted to see now was a bathroom. Preferably from the inside. He slowly but progressivelycame to thingthat peeing into some corner or out of a window maybe was a rather good, if undignified option, when he finally came to a narrow spiral staircase that seemingly lead downwards. But with Hogwarts you never know of course. He sped down the staircase anyway – hoping for the best - , almost slipping on them a few times, but luckily making it down unharmed in the end.

At the end of the spiral staircase stood a wall. There was a fucking wall there, closing off what could have been a perfectly agreeable exit. Draco was close to loosing it (and not just the contents of his bladder either, but his mind as well), now anxiously pulling at his hair. This was so typical, so bloody typical. Crazy old castle should have burned down after all, the blasted thing.

Then he noticed a dingy old rope hanging from the low ceiling on the right side of the wall.

How could he not have noticed it before? Draco frantically pulling on the rope at once, hoping that it was indeed the trigger to open a hidden exit and not just the trigger to empty a concealed bucket of ice cold water over his head.

Fortunately what happened was in fact that the wall in front of him shuddered and then slid away to the side without further ado, opening up into a familiar looking corridor.

Draco stormed through the newly exposed exit before it had a chance to close again, took a hurried look back at it though when it slid back in place behind him. The wall fit perfectly into the rest of the corridor, but there was a portrait there of a large cherry tree with low hanging branches standing on a meadow with the sun setting on the horizon. To one of those branches a rope was tied, looking suspiciously similar to the one that Draco now knew hung from the ceiling on the other side of the wall. Hopefully he would be able to remember all of that later and would be able to figure out how to open entrance.

Draco looked around then hurriedly and immediately recognized the corridor as one of the many corridors on the fourth floor. Just as he thought that, someone came around the corner and before Draco could stop himself and realize what his pathetically pleading words would to to the last remnants of his pride, he asked that person in what almost appeared to be a whine:

"The bathroom?"

He seemed to have taken them by surprise, but they pointed in a direction nonetheless, staring at him with wide eyes. Draco ran off into said direction without a word of thanks, immediately trying to forget this embarrassing encounter for all eternity; his sole purpose now being to find the promised bathroom. He almost cried with relief when he finally found it and could relieve himself from the growing pain in his bladder.

Washing his hands after he’d finished he looked at himself in the mirror. He quickly discovered that he looked even worse then the last time he had dared to look into one. With his spindly fingers he combed though his long pale hair, tucking a few strands behind his ears in an absolutely useless effort to try and make himself look less like he’d just risen from his grave. That was all he could do right now though he decided. People would stare at him anyway and he could always avoid mirrors to spare his sanity.

He continued his way down to the Great Hall, letting his pocket watch snap open absent-mindedly, taking a quick look at the heirloom he’d once perceived as being beautiful and thought of as precious. It was six thirty now. He had almost spent an hour in that maze up there in the oldest part of the castle he'd ever seen. Amazing.

Still, it was very early in the morning. And rather cold too. He really should have thought of taking his cloak with him or even better… But no, he was not gonna think about why that hadn’t happened.

The door to the great hall stood open wide as it usually did and Draco couldn't move. He just stared at it, unable to think of what would await him inside.

He should eat. He should be able to eat here, just like everybody else. But he wasn't like them. Didn’t matter though. He was gonna go in there now, Draco decided. His mask of indifference firmly in place on his face he slowly walked into the Great Hall. Nothing happened.

There weren’tthat many people in there yet though so maybe that wasn’t that big of a surprise as it felt like to Draco. The ‘patching teams’ would start their work at around eight in the morning, that's what his letter had said at least and it wasn't even seven yet and still there were people sitting on the tables already, quietly talking to each other.

Draco quickly and quietly made his way through the room and felt the first few curious eyes following him to the Slytherin table on the other side of the room then, where he sat down alone on the bench in the corner, furthest away from the door. From this place he had a good look at the entrance and all incoming people. He liked it that way.

Looking up from the food laden tables he let his eyes wander through the hall, noticing that the conversations had fallen silent and most of the other people were staring at him. Someone even pointed at him. He scowled and looked at the food in front of him instead. He wasn't hungry any more, but he had to eat now, not just to preserve what was left of his declining health, but also because he wasn't gonna allow himself to show anything other then strength, resistance and perseverance. If he’d learned anything being a Slytherin, it was that showing weakness now would mean to virtually offering himself as prey for the upcoming hunting season.

So he grabbed the pumpkin juice in front of him and poured some it into a goblet, grabbed rather blindly some of the food on the table and put it on his plate too. He suppressed the onslaught of nausea that hit him then as best as he could and took a bite of some rather dry toast he’d apparently put on his plate. It tasted like the dust he’d slept in and he felt like he spent an eternity chewing and swallowing it like it was made of rubber actually, but the food helped. The volunteers slowly got back to their conversations and seemed to leave him to eat his breakfast for now.

Draco still felt like prey in this huge hall, he couldn’t help it. He was faced with a mass of hungry beasts all around him and he knew it. They wanted to see his blood and what ever he did here, it was only stalling. They’d come for him inevitably.

He ate as fast as he could without choking on it or retching it all up again and then exited the great hall as possibly unnoticed as he could with an appearance as recognizable and a reputation as infamous as his. He knew he would have to return to the Great Hall before the shift started, but until then he wouldn't just sit there on the silver platter. He could not.

Just when he’d passed the large doors, he heard someone distinctively clearing their throat and start to speak. He’d already turned back around to listen from the entrance before he’d consciously made the decision. Some manners were too deeply ingrained in him it appeared.

"Good morning and welcome to all of you!", a woman spoke,who Draco easily recognized as the Headmistress. "I would like to remember the current staff and the new arrivals as well, that I will be handing out updated maps and new schedules personally today at around 8 a.m. here in the Great Hall. The old information is invalid as of now. Enjoyyour breakfast.", she said curtly, stepping down from the podium to sit at the teachers table without further ado. Draco sighed and made his way out of the castle.

Pale but surprisingly warm sunlight greeted his face as he stepped outside. He deeply breathed in the cool morning air, gently rolling his tense shoulders as he did so, wishing he could close his eyes if only for a moment then.

The evergreen grass of the Hogwarts grounds looked sickly pale in the light of day. There was a thin layer of ashes covering everything, making even the green of the usually so luscious summer grass look dirty and unhealthy. Draco almost couldn't bare the sight of the once so beautiful Hogwarts grounds in this pitiful condition. He didn’t dare look at the castle itself for it would probably break his heart if he’d truly open his eyes to the destruction he knew he would see there. He did his best to block it all out once again.

Draco's steps grew faster, his eyes steadily fixed on the in the sunlight glittering black lake in the distance, where his feet would take him.

For a while wandered around the lake front and there was a small, delightful moment when he’d almost forgotten where he was and what he was doing, forgot everything around him like he used to do back when being tardy didn’t have the contingency to cost him his life.

When he snapped out of it and realized that he was going to be late if he didn't return to the Great Hall now, he found himself standing frozen there for a second and had to let the deep urge to run away wash over him. He did not move. He did not run.

It cost him all his strength to will himself to turn back around and make his way to where he had to go. His jaw was clenching in exertion and sweat broke out on his skin.

When Draco came back to the Great Hall the volunteers had already gathered in front of the dinner tables, waiting for Headmistress McGonagall to call out their names. The crowd was split into different groups of each around seven to twelve people it appeared and the Headmistress handed the new arrivals each a map and a schedule before sorting them into a group according to a list in her hand.

"Mr. Malfoy, Group B.", she finally uttered and Draco tried his best to walk up to her with measured steps and an overall calm exterior, taking the two pieces of parchment offeredwith only slightly shaking hands and stepping to his group with his gaze never resting on anybody’s face long enough to make eye contact, not looking at the floor either though. The crowd was watching, quietly muttering.

Unsurprisingly the volunteers of ‘Group B’ lookedeven less pleased with his arrival then the rest of them. He couldn't blame them. Draco kept theblank expressionon his face, not revealing anything to them.

He looked at the map he had been given. It showed, with great detail, the part of the castle he would work at from now on, colourfully marked with symbols and things that gave him all the information he would need. On the backside of it was yet another map that seemed to show a part of the castle that he wasn't familiar with at all. He figured quickly that it was where the old classroom he’d stayed in last night must be. There was his name written into one of the rooms on the map there in McGonagall's elegant handwriting he discovered, confirming his theory. A short note was down below that read:

"This map shall assist you in finding the way to and from your room easily.

Changing accommodations are out of discussion at the current time.

Sincerely,

Headmistress McGonagall."

Draco winced. Of course there was no use in asking for a change of room or ‘room-mate’ more like it, he had known that from the start. Did she really expect him to put up a fight about it? Apparently.

He knew he deserved what ever was handed to him, but it was a bit disconcerting to realize that she seemed to think that ‘golden boy Potter’ should suffer as well as him. What did that say exactly about… But Draco did not care.

The other piece of parchment told him with which group he would be working from now on (which he’d already been told by now) and where they would first be occupied. It also depicted who would be his superior for the time being, when the breaks would be, as well as listed a few of the most important charms and spells he’d be using, most of which Draco already knew of course. He honestly doubted that they would be specialized enough to fix what kind of damage he would be faced with though.

The schedule read:

08:00 – 11:00        1. Shift            3 h

11:00 – 11:30        1. Break           ½ h

11:30 – 14:30        2. Shift             3 h

14:30 – 16:00        2. Break           1 ½ h

16:00 – 19:00        3. Shift             3 h

19:30 p.m. Dinner at the great hall.

Draco found this schedule to be a bit random at first, especially with the odd times for the two breaks, but quickly made sense of it as he thought about it.

Nine hours overall to work, divided into three hours per shift. The work would almost solely consist of practical work and no one could be expected to work for more then three hours in a row for many of the spellwork that would be necessary would be rather straining in done correctly and probably even more so if improperly done. They’d need not only a lot of magical strength to keep up doing these spells, but lots of concentration as well. Magically exhausting the volunteers was not in anybody’s best interest. The breaks just fell where they did then and refreshments would probably be supplied throughout the day. In the Great Hall most likely. And dinner time was rather usual as well as the time the first shift started at. Breakfast was there to be had for early risers as well as for those who came in right before the start of their shift.

It was quite possible that not everybody worked all three shifts of course. After all, everybody but him was doing this voluntarily.

Draco followed his group through the corridors, always keeping a bit of a distance to the others though, who continuously shot him suspicious glances of course. Draco didn’t have to wait for long.

"So it is true then, the infamous Malfoy heir has returned to Hogwarts.", a tall, slender man in his late twenties sneered, baring his unhealthy looking teeth in a threatening grin. Draco ignored the comment and continued to stoically look down the hallway ahead of them.

Although his hair had lost its glossy look and had turned from the almost white blonde colour that had always been the Malfoy trademark, to an almost ashen tone, people still recognized him. And the rumours were probably already running wild with the news that for so far unknown reasons, the heir of what had once been considered to be not only one of the oldest and purest of Britain's wizarding families, but a very honourable and wealthy one as well, had arrived at Hogwarts. And who now apparently work with the rest of them like he was one of them. That had to be confusing.

It completely eluded Draco as to why the Wizengamot had decided to not make that part of his sentence public knowledge. Yes, it may have been a… controversial decision, but if they thought that what would happen if people didn’t get a fair warning was gonna be any less devastating, they would surely get a rather rude awakening.

Draco tied his hair back with a small leather tie he usually kept around his wrist nowadays, so it wouldn't bother him during work. It had really become rather grey lately, had an almost ashen tone to it now. Magic did curious things, did it not? Draco sometimes liked to imagine that it had been turned this colour by the inferno of the fiendfyre that Crabbe had conjured in the room of requirement that day. The hell fire that had then proceeded to incinerate the poor sod and the rest of the room as well. It had almost cost them all their lives, but Draco wasn’t thinking about all of that in this moment. No, better not think about the hissing, roaring walls of flames all around them, the smell of burning flesh and the soot and ashes, the hot air that had burned their lungs and… But the truth was, Draco really didn't know why his hair had changed it's colour.

The patching team had stopped and gathered now. Until then Draco hadn't really taken a look around and hadn't noticed the severe damage everywhere. He realized now that the corridors they had followed from the Great Hall up here, were no longer as badly damaged as the parts that fro example currently lay ahead of them. Clearly the patching teams had started to work their way up from the Great Hall.

"Alright, guys.", a rather corpulent middle aged guy with large brown eyes and short strands of blondish hair that were plastered to his head (with what appeared to be sweat) grunted.

"And girls.", a woman in her mid twenties chirped.

"And girls." The man agreed with a sigh. "My name is Mr. Strutt, for all of you who don't already know it and I am here to supervise all of youthrough the course of your stay here at Hogwarts castle. Thank you for generously volunteering to aid in rebuilding this truly historic building that will hopefully very soon give all those lovely children the opportunity to live and learn once again. You are true heroes.”

Nobody laughed. Honestly, not a single person laughed. Draco felt his eyes threatening to fall out of his skull. He knew of course that this cute little speech was not directed at him, but these people… What the hell.

“Good, now that that’s been said we will get to the important part.”, Mr. Strutt said brusquely, before clearing his throat and looking imploringly at the crowd that hung on his lips like he was the second coming of Merlin. Well, everybody but that woman who had interrupted before. She looked a bit more laid back. “I know this castle much better then you do and more important I am responsible for all of your safety. That is why you will follow my every command _immediately_ and _to - the – point._ Any other instructions I will give to you, you will listen to very closely anddo them exactly how and when I tell you to do them. There will be no bending of my rules, no special treatment and no joking during this very serious work. This is to your own safety. Got it?", the man barked and fixed with his gaze every person in the group one after the other. Draco felt himself shudder in revulsion.

The woman who had spoken before rolled her eyes now, her arms crossed over her chest.

"Well, my name is Lydia.", she said with a sniff. The rest of the group mimicked her and proceeded to tell their name to the group one after the other. Draco didn't listen.

"Draco Malfoy.", he said as the last one of them. All eyes were on him now.

 "So, it _is_ true. The young Malfoy has returned.", Lydia said with a rather malicious looking sneer and a raised brow above her dark eyes, that suddenly reminded Draco very uncomfortably of his dear aunt Bella. Her hair was dark too, but not as wild maybe. And not as long. Her skin was not as pale either and her face was wider too. Her lips were a bit thinner, her nose was slightly upturned and not as long and thin as Draco’s aunts. No, in fact, she did not have his aunts face. There were indeed some resemblances but… No, it was not her. The voice. Yes, the voice was not the same and that did make the biggest difference in the end. This Lydia woman had an alto speaking voice that someone else might even have been able to consider nice. Very unlike Bella’s artificially high pitched noise of a speaking voice.

Only years of work on his 'Malfoy persona' helped Draco stay outwardly calm, but he did manage.

"Or so it appears.", he replied coolly.

"What brings you back, Malfoy? What do you want here? Did you not destroy enough of the castle already? Here to finish the job?”, she asked harshly, her eyes narrowed. Everyone looked at them, observed the spectacle closely and more then one person was clutching their wand in their hands or pockets, not very secretly either. Despite himself Draco felt himself breaking out in sweat.

"I’m afraid that is none of your business.", Draco said curtly, meeting her eyes with his. He felt pathetic. This little show of confidence wouldn’t have fooled any of the marked men and women Draco had served with, but where it had made him feel superior to these people standing before him once upon a time, it now made him feel oddly hollow, indescribably old and utterly soiled instead.

Indignation was written all over their faces now as they stared at him in cold rage. He should have been afraid, he knew, they might not have been Death Eaters, but they could still harm him after all and yet he only felt an overwhelming tiredness overcoming him now. What ever would happen to him was what he deserved. It wasn't like he had anything left to care about and he didn’t possess the means to stop it anyway.

"No, it may not be her concern, but it is mine. I am responsible for these volunteers and I can not have a Death Eater on the loose here and innocent people being afraid to let you out of their sight, because you might just feel like hexing them when they turn their backs. So, if you would please...”, Mr. Strutt growled, before taking a deep breath and bellowing with a red face: “ _Answer the damned question_ _, boy!_ " Saliva hit Draco’s face. He tried not to cringe and wipe his face immediately as not to provoke even more, but not to look away or to take a view steps back either from the man who stood far too close for it to be proper. Draco did not like it, did not like any of this at all, but what the hell was he to do?

"It is part of my sentence to help repair the castle until the start of the next school term.", Draco explained, his voice as well as his expression, he knew, void of all emotion.

There were shocked gasps all around him, harsh murmurs and plenty of glares. He ignored it all.

" _Sir_.", Mr. Strutt reminded him rather unkindly.

"Sir.", Draco repeated calmly, staring in the man's eyes with nothing but indifference on his face. Mr. Strutt showed a toothy grin that was full of arrogance. Draco did not like this man one bit, but he was not about to show his disrespect. He’d simply think his part. Yes, it had come to that once again and that was bad enough, but was there much of a choice to be had here? The guy did not seem like the type to excuse disrespect, but like someone would demand it, with or without having earned it. He _was_ in fact in a position of power here. And Draco may not have had any true respect for people like Mr. Strutt, quite possibly because of the way Draco himself had presented himself for the longest time in front of other people, but he would play the part if he had to.

"Why would I let a wolf live amongst sheep?", the man asked Draco threateningly while stepping even closer in an attempt to intimidate him. That didn't work on him though. For a reason truly did not understand it was like a switch had been flipped in his head and suddenly he was so very full of confidence he felt like bursting. He wasn't afraid any longer. He wasn’t even nervous any more.

He had seen so much worse than this. For Salazar’s sake, he had lived under the same roof as the Dark Lord himself. Draco had been tortured by Him and his followers and even before that, by his aunt, by his own father at times. This man, who to the outside at least, wanted to look like a good person, but truly was nothing but abusive in character... This man would not and could not harm Draco. Causing him harm did not mean nearly enough to this man to threaten his job with rash actions. There was nothing to fear from him.

But that wasn’t the reason why he wasn't afraid of any of this any longer, Draco realized then. What had previously made him afraid, terrified him and had chilled him to the bone was to be forced to face his own mistakes and what they had resulted it. He had been afraid to see the damage he had done and still was if he was honest, although he was a good bit less impressed with the damage visible on the castle as it was no living thing. He was far, far more afraid to meet true innocence that had been hurt and spoiled and lost in the war. He feared greatly to meet the heroes of the war, who had done the things right that he himself had done wrong. The true heroes like Headmistress McGonagall and Potter for example, not the self appointed ones. This man in front of him though was a vile creature and Draco couldn’t imagine him doing anything brave and selfless in the war or otherwise.

Other than fearing to face the consequences of his actions, Draco had a bone deep craving to be hurt, to be punished for his sins. And he would take that from anyone that would provide it, because he was sure to deserve it. It was right for him to suffer. But for some reason he newly felt an unwillingness to receive punishment from someone who was no better then himself. Call him spoiled.

"That you would have to ask the Ministry or possibly Headmistress McGonagall.", Draco replied calmly. He could see the anger boil inside of Mr. Strutt now and was glad that he had refrained from saying something more snappish. It must have worked anyway, because the man took a step back from Draco and started to bellow out commands to the group, swiftly dividing them into even smaller groups instead of carry on with their ‘conversation’.

The new arrivals apparently were always paired with someone who had been here for long enough to have gained some experience with the spells they used and who was able to teach the basics. Made sense so far. Draco did not think it was a coincidence that he was paired with Lydia. And that did not make any sense in his opinion other then to ensure for him to be continuously tortured throughout the day. Maybe his mask had flickered for a moment there and Strutt had realized his repulsion.

Three hours then and then a break of about half an hour to give their magic and their minds the opportunity to regenerate themselves. That was manageable.

During the first three hours Lydia made snide remarks about Draco’s family, his overall heritage, any and all associations he may or may not have had and some other things he did not want to think about. Then some rather nasty and from his perspective so acutely macabre and disrespectful jokes that even he could not enjoy them and of course made fun of Draco’s every move.

He knew he had been a little shit to a lot of people for most of his miserable little life, but this… Well, he would not have dared to say the things this woman was uttering even when he’d been at his worst. To say he was absolutely disgusted with her would be an understatement. On the positive side though, she did have a way with words if she wanted to.

During the break the group quickly scattered throughout the castle. Some of them got themselves a snack from the Great Hall indeed and used the nearest bathroom somewhere down the hall or just wandered through the already fixed up corridors of the lower levels. The latter was what Draco did. He used the time to try and calm himself down, because it seemed like Lydia's side blows and constant provocations had started to take a tall on his now straining patience.

Lydia herself appeared to have used the first break to gather as much new information his family as she possibly could and used them to the best of her knowledge to taunt and bully Draco even more ruthless then before. He tried his best to ignore her comments and remarks, because he was rather dependent on her knowledge still. He needed her to teach him the necessary spells, which indeed turned out to _not_ be on the list of basic spells that he’d been given with the maps and the schedule. So clearly he needed her help to be able to work properly, so he stayed silent.

That list had been a good idea in theory, but it wasn’t of much help in the end, because they had to reconstruct so many very different things (pre-existing spellwork included) and guess how they could work together again, sometimes conjure things from scratch when the original was too badly damaged to repair or reconstruct and stuff like that.

Draco had come to realize that he did not exactly dislike this kind of work at all, but he had come to truly loath the company that he had to keep and with every hour that passed it got worse. He had quickly understood that Lydia must have told the other volunteers during break how she had bullied him and the whole bunch of them had responded to that by acting like ‘over exited teenage brats’, as Severus would most likely have called them. Like they had just been handed a particularly juicy bit of gossip or blackmail material that could secure them an advantage with their crush. And it was absolutely pathetic how they all hung on Lydia’s lips. And none of this did in fact remind Draco of his past and Slytherin gossip and other gossip and Pansy and Potter and things. Not at all. But yes, this was exactly why one should not let ones weaknesses be known. But it was too late for that now of course. The damage was already done, was it not? Fainting in front of people wasn’t his kind of fun either.

When Draco entered the Great Hall the same spectacle as the last time started to play out once again. All eyes were on him, staring at his every move. There were hushed conversations and rants and more or less quiet insults all around him, which he ignored. He retreated to the furthest corner on what used to he the Slytherin table, where he’d already sat in the morning. He caught himself scanning the mass of people gathering around the tables in search of familiar faces, may even looking for somewhat welcoming eyes like there used to be… But there were none of course. None of that now. He did indeed recognize a few former students though (not from his year it seemed, but younger or older ones), a few retired teachers, some parents of students he might have seen on the platform once or twice and so on and on. But no, so far none of them even had a neutral look on their faces when they looked at him. Not that he’d really expected any form of kindness from anybody. It was just that he felt so very alone sitting in the Great Hall, surrounded by so many people and there was a disconcerting need he felt growing inside of him, that was desperate for social contact. Maybe to compensate the mistreatment he received from Lydia and the rest of the pack. Who knew. And if not that, he wished for just some normality, something familiar he could hang on to, for his sanity’s sake.

And that was when he thought of Potter. Where was the guy? Shouldn't he be at dinner?

For some strange reason Draco really missed those emerald eyes glaring at him in disgust and rage, like they used to do when they were students here together. He missed the security of that well deserved and mutual disrespect and hatred between them. So, why wouldn't the boy wonder show up? Was he trying to irritate Draco with his absence? Or could he possibly not care for these kinds of things any longer? Somehow just the thought of that frightened Draco. He didn’t think he was able to let go of the old enemy just yet. Not now. No, he needed the friction between them, he needed the fights, pushing each others buttons and the name calling that had their own special rules. Rules that Draco knew just all too well. And it would be just like in the old days then, when the world had still been a much brighter place, had been logical to some extend as well. Things had made sense back then, yes. It would give Draco some stability and security to fight with Potter. Witnessing these strange thoughts unfold in his mind, they quickly stared to scare Draco almost out of his own mind and yet he still felt like there was some truth to them. Mmh yes, they were so very true still. He couldn't deny their rightfulness and just tried his best to ignore what all of that said about him.

So, where the hell was Potter? Did he think he was just so above eating with the common folk now that he had saved the world? Not that Draco had ever before thought of himself as anything like common, but... Desperate times, desperate measures they say. He kept his eyes on the doors of the Great Hall for the entirety of the meal and even considered staying longer then he needed to, just to wait for that stupid boy to finally make an appearance like he ought to. But was Draco truly so desperate that he would sit there and wait for his adversary to arrive, like he was some pining schoolgirl with an immature crush on the guy? No, he was not.

Draco would go find him.

And with that thought he stood up with the intention to walk away from the staring crowd. To his misfortune though someone must have used a jinx on him without him noticing and tied together his shoe laces. That became apparent when he tumbled and fell to the ground with a loud thump upon taking his first step. The hall was disconcertingly quiet for half a moment when everybody simply gaped at him and then laughter broke out throughout the room, eerily echoing from the walls.

Draco had hurt his chin on the stony floor, had bitten his lip and there were abrasions on his hands, but other then that he was okay. He sat up calmly, untied his shoe laces manually, ignoring the blood dripping from his mouth and chin, then stood up and walked out of the great hall with his mask of indifference firmly in place. But after this very public humiliation he felt like screaming. Possibly even crying.

How was it that grown up people acted like school children still? After everything that had happened. It didn't matter though. They just did. It would not help Draco to understand how otherwise good people turned malicious around him in such a short amount of time.

Draco pulled out the map that McGonagall had handed to him in the morning and tried to determine which the quickest path to the old classroom would be he would have to stay the night in with Potter. His head was spinning. He had a headache as well and he so desperately tried to concentrate. He tried to stop the bleeding on his chin with his sleeve, where it still dropped down onto his plain black robes. Or what had once been black robes. All the rubble and the ashes and the dust made them appear grey now. Just like with the grass in the yard.

Draco looked at the map again and noticed then that just across from the old classroom that were his ‘living quarters’ now, a small but useable bathroom was specifically marked in on the map. He had not noticed that in the morning. Obviously. Draco let out a small, self deprecating chuckle. What an idiot he was, what a loser. And what he would have given for this little piece of information in the morning. He had actually thought about peeing out of a window somewhere, for Salazar’s sake! His chuckle grew uncontrollably louder. The noise rang in his ears and made his head hurt even worse. He decided to ignore all of these things as it seemed that he had no control over them at the current time.

He directed his steps down the corridor, following the maps instructions and finally came to the picture of the cherry tree on the meadow with the low hanging branches and the rope. He had an idea what he had to do to open the entrance to the spiral staircase. Reaching directly through the picture he pulled on the rope that was concealing itself as being tied to one of those trees branches. The wall slid to the side easily and Draco entered. Mh, yes. Magic, he loved it.

His laughter had fortunately subsided by now, the headache had not.

The entrance closed behind him and suddenly he stood there in total darkness. Draco pulled out his wand and whispered "Lumos.", illuminated the staircase with his wands light. His wand wasn’t was it used to be either. Verbal spells seemed to work a bit more reliable most of the time now, but not always.

Draco staggered a bit as he made his way up the narrow stairs. He managed not to fall them down again though so that was that. He looked at the map again once he had arrived at the top and realized then that the way back to the old classroom was in fact very easy and not that long either. All in all it couldn’t take more then ten or fifteen minutes from the Great Hall if one wasn’t an invalid. But he could see easily now how he could have gotten lost in that maze of corridors that was surrounding the easiest path.

When the door of the old classroom came in sight Draco's steps grew slower, but he did keep on walking.

He was afraid of the confrontation with Potter. No, he was utterly terrified of it. He couldn't help but imagine all the things that could possibly go wrong with this or rather make then even worse then they already were. There was no chance of that confrontation going down smoothly, so yes, it would only ever be a matter of making them worse and letting everything escalate to the point of no return.

Had he not only minutes before been the one with some very crazy thoughts about needing this? Sanity. Once had perhaps; Been gone for a while now.

Draco opened the door quietly and peeked inside without making it too obvious. To his surprise though the room appeared to be empty.

"Homenum revelio", he murmured, his wand in hand. Nothing happened. The room did indeed stay empty. Draco sighed in relief and entered the room, cautiously still.

It had gotten dark outside and there wasn’t much light falling through the windows now, even thought the shutters were open. With a quick spell from his wand he illuminated the room and noticed the candles and small gas lamps that were placed all over the room on sills and random old desks and stuff. Potter must be using then to light the room. Draco did not however light them, because those weren't his.

The belongings he had dropped onto the floor in the night still lay there scattered and Draco found the sight of them laying around curious. It didn’t look like Potter touched them at all, did not take a quick look through them. He really would have thought the Gryffindor would have done that, Potter was famous for his curiosity after all. Then on the other hand, the boy probably thought that, if there would been something interesting or important within these items, Draco would have gathered them at once from the dirty floor. Which may or may not be a too advanced thought for a stupid prick like the ‘golden boy’.

Or did Potter maybe just not care about their rivalry any more? Did he not care about gaining the upper hand? And why felt just the thought of that vague possibility so very unpleasant to Draco? Ah, but he’d already worried about that before. This was nonsense and had to stop.

The blonde boy shook his head resolutely and picked up his belongings, put them back into his backpack, after brushing the dust off. He looked through his baggage then for some fresh clothes, a towel, soap and some other stuff he quite desperately need, making his way to the bathroom across the corridor as soon as he’d wrapped his necessities in the towel.

The bathroom was not nearly as small as he had thought it would be, which was a pleasant surprise. Draco liked the many different and quite unusually shaped and sized tiles in all shades of blue on the floor and on the walls. The mosaic they created looked like a rather cryptic riddle to him he was unable to decipher. It was a very unconventional room, but Draco liked it. There were five sinks on one wall, three toilets, two big showers with glass walls and one very large bathtub. Very unusual indeed. Since when did Draco like the unusual? Since when did he prefer things not being in order or normal? Huh. Well, what ever. Who cared.

Draco closed the bathroom door behind himself and locked it. He put his things down on a small wooden stool next to the tub, picked up his toothbrush and paste and some other things and arranged them around the sink furthest from the door. He took a quick evaluating look into the mirror. Which fortunately did not have anything to say to him. The spell must have faded over time, because had it still been active the wretched thing would probably have screamed at him.

He looked very tired and his hair was a right mess. He pulled out the hair tie to free his long locks and shook his head a few times, which did not help at all of course. There was a rather prominent wound on his chin and dark bruising and blood smeared all around it. Draco picked up his wand and muttered a simple healing spell that to his surprise did indeed close the wound and let the bruises fade a bit as well. Huh, not just a useless piece of wood after all.

Showering or bathing, he asked himself. He felt like he couldn't stand for much longer, so he chose to bathe. He turned on the water to the bathtub that – thank magic – quickly filled the mesmerizing blue tub.

Draco slowly stripped down his cloths, letting them carelessly fall to the floor where he stood by the tub. The strong glamour he always placed on his inner left arm was still he discovered. And Draco carefully kept his thoughts from going down that road.

He had brought his lavender oil and generously poured some of it into the tub. This was one of the reasons why he was glad to have been spoiled as a child. He simply adored the scent of the expensive oil and it was exactly what he needed to help him calm down after a day like this.

He checked the temperature of the water and shut off the tap when he was satisfied with it. He climbed into the basin and let his body be welcomed by the warmth, let himself be enveloped by the lovely scented bathwater. He simply adored the feeling of hot water on his body. It made him relax immediately. It was magical. And the basin was so large that he could lie in there spread eagled and still have a good amount of space left on all sides. He let his head fall back into the water at last, closing his and gently started to massage his aching scalp with slender fingers. He softly groaned at the comforting feeling of his own gentle and familiar touch.

There was a sudden noise at the door then that startled Draco. He opened his eyes and hurriedly sat up in the bathtub, looking to the door. Once again someone tried to open the door and then muttered something Draco couldn't understand through the door. The person left. And all the relaxation brought on by the nice bath was gone now as well, because the only one who could have been out there was Potter and although he had clearly left, Draco in fact did _not_ fancy the thought of being naked and vulnerable just mere meters from the guy.

He laved himself with soap and rinsed it off, before getting out of the bathtub, dr ying himself off and putting on some fresh clothes.  Draco wore simple cloths  these days .  He’d decided on plain black robes for work here, like the one he’d had  worn under the travel cloak when he’d arrived. But he’d wear skinny black jeans  and a simple shirt underneath. It had started as a silent rebellion at one point, he could admit that to himself.

The secret knowledge of what he wore beneath his wizarding robes had always given him a feeling of defiance and freedom. Muggle clothes. Yes, Draco Malfoy wore muggle clothes sometimes. He used to always take great care that nobody noticed when he’d allowed himself that little pleasure in the past, but now… Now he didn’t really want to hiding like that any more. He knew thought that people wouldn’t exactly react ‘well’ to this and his situation would become very dangerous very quickly, even more so then it already was. Because for him to ‘dare to wear muggle clothes’, the Death Eater that he was... But only Potter would see these clothes right now and the imbecile most likely wouldn’t even notice. _He_ had n’t ever cared about what kind of clothes people wore, so why should Draco hide them? Potter would make a scathing comment along the lines of ‘how the mighty have fallen’ or something, yes, but he’d leave it at that. Maybe not the best start for their confrontation though, but to hell with that. Draco would die as himself at least.

Draco dried his hair with his towel, let out the bath water by pulling the plug manually after his wand had decided to not want to work for that, then gathered his things and left the bathroom. He stood in the corridor now and suddenly he became unsure of what to do next. So he just stood there.

The door of the classroom he shared with Potter now was closed and Draco could hear nothing from what might be going on on the inside. But he felt like the other boy would be in there, waiting for him to come in, waiting for the long overdue confrontation.

Draco could have let him wait for it, but what would that achieve? Right, nothing at all.

‘So here it goes then.’, he told himself.

Draco opened the door and closed it behind himself again as he walked inside. The room was rather comfortably illuminated now by a variety of different sized and shaped candles and gas lamps standing on sills and furniture. Potter was sitting on his mattress and looked through some different sized pieces of parchment. He looked up at Draco then with a questioning look, his eyebrows raised. This was when Draco recognized the parchment the other boy held in his hands, because these were his parchments, his very own and very, very personal drawings, taken from the folder he usually kept them in. Draco felt the old rage, the old fury rise inside him in not more then the blink of an eye and before he could even think of stopping himself he had already stepped up to Potter and ripped the drawings from his hands.

"You had no right!", he spit with venom in his voice, clutching the parchment to his chest to quite uselessly conceal what was on them. It was too late for that of course, because the self-righteous prat had already seen them.

Potter shook his head, the questioning look that Draco hadn’t noticed before quickly dropped from his face and an expression of surprise and amusement as well appeared instead.

He had been right. This was exactly what he’d needed. Maybe that _was_ crazy, but what did it matter now? Draco felt like he was on the most incredible high he’d ever experienced and maybe that was why he was still rather calm in the face of Potters obvious amusement.

"Promise.", Potter said, holding up his crossed fingers in front of him mockingly and with a smirk on his face. Draco turned and walked up to his small, self declared sleeping place and sat down onto his travelling cloak.

"Are you gonna sleep on the bare floor again, Malfoy, or are you gonna get yourself a mattress or something? It's hard to watch really, this tragedy, you know.", Potter asked with what may have tried to be sarcasm. One couldn’t be too sure though. And never let it be known that Draco might have unintentionally tried to credit the arse a sense of humour of some kind.

There was nothing funny about Harry Potter.

"The floor isn't blank as there is quite obviously a travel cloak lying on it. I thought you might have noticed that when you went through my belongings, but you have never been an observant person, have you, Potter?", Draco sneered.

"Right... ", Potter replied, rolling his eyes. "Have fun lying on the hard floor then." And with that Potter got up and left the room, towel and some other things in his hands. Draco sighed. That was it then. This was really all he could get out of the Gryffindor it seemed. It had not worked. Why had it not work? Why was the arse so relaxed? There was something wrong with that. Harry Potter, the Harry Potter that Draco knew -and knew rather at that- would by now long since have hexed or punched him and yet, he had not. This was not at all going the way it was _supposed_ to. It was… disconcerting.

But no, it was good to have the room to himself for a few minutes. He was glad.

He _should_ be glad to have the room to himself.

Then he remembered and immediately started to go through the drawings and sketches Potter had seen in a rather anxious manner. He was relieved to discover that they had not changed and still held their secrets. He stuffed them back into their folder, but not before he had turned one of them to their real state and then quickly turning them back again to what usually covered the underlying drawing. Everything was as it should be. Well, almost everything.

Draco sat there, deep in thought for a while.

"So, why is it that you almost exclusively draw yourself and all those pictures look so very different from each other?", Potter asked Draco in an absolutely inappropriately casual manner when he re entered the room and flopped down onto that mattress of his inelegantly.

The Gryffindor had changed into more comfortable and clean cloths after his shower. Muggle like he so often wore. Draco couldn't care less.

"They are a case study. I try different techniques and styles.", Draco heard himself reply curtly before he could stop himself. He was not looking up at Potter though, but at the new piece of parchment in his lap, which he had pulled out of his backpack. He started to draw a rough sketch of Hogwarts, on the small piece of parchment that lay on a wooden board he used for support.

Draco didn't mention of course that there was no one who would let him draw them, which was partially because there were less then a handful of people who even knew then he occasionally enjoyed drawing. He usually did not let anybody see him draw, but now that the secret was out in the open, what was there to stop him draw with the infernal prick in his presence? Might make it a bit more bearable even.

"I mean, I get that you're a self centred bastard and all... You've always been a narcissist obviously, but have you really not noticed that your eyes are in fact _not_ green, but grey? Or is that just your wishful thinking?"Potters teasing words got Draco back to reality in less then a second and not at all in a nice way. Draco blanched at Potters comment, freezing in place. So he had noticed that. But he did not seem to comprehend what it meant, Draco realized then and that was when colour slowly returned to his face. Draco did not do or say anything for a while and that seemed to encourage Potter to say some more stupid stuff nobody wanted to hear.

"So, why are you here exactly, Malfoy?"

Draco was off the hook about the drawings it appeared, but very much on the hook for something that might turn out to be even worse then the previous topic. Thanks universe and retributive justice, karma or what ever! For nothing. Nothing at all. And although Draco did not want to answer this new question, he had to. Why were they even talking though? They _never_ talked and it _was_ weird. Disconcerting as had been mentioned before. There was something seriously wrong here, Draco just couldn’t figure out what it was yet.

Potter would not let go of it until he knew the truth, Draco was aware of this unhealthy habit of Potters. It was one of the things he found the most annoying about the Gryffindor. And one of the things he most admired about him at the same time. But to be truthful, once Draco sat his mind to something he always found a way to achieve what he wanted to achieve. With the use of much more refined approaches of course, but still... Well, what ever. These thoughts did not help Draco to answer the open question.

"It is as part of my sentence that I have come here and help rebuild the castle.", Draco explained through gritted teeth. Potter didn't look surprised which somehow angered Draco.

"You mean, you are here to help rebuild what you tried to tear down?", Potter baited, observing his reaction closely.

"Yes, Potter, that is exactly what I meant, but thank you for pointing that out again. My purpose here is so much clearer to me now.", Draco shot back sarcastically. That got Potter looking rather stunned and Draco almost had to laugh at the sight of his stupid face. Had he known that it would just take a little sarcasm and parts of the truth to make the Gryffindor so flustered and surprised, he would have tried that years ago. He liked to get Potter out of concept.

To Draco’s surprise Potter left it at that. It very clearly was a perfect opportunity to pick a fight, to pry for more secrets and to provoke Draco, but Potter boy did nothing of the sort. He did nothing at all really. What the bloody fuck was wrong with him? Draco was more then just a bit disappointed, to be honest. He hadn't even noticed Draco's unusual clothing.

"What ever, Potter. I'm going to sleep now, so please have the kindness to shut your mouth.", Draco said in a cold voice. Potter answered with a snort and noisily lay down on his own sleeping place when Draco did.

Potter must have used his wands to extinguish the flames of the candles and lamps in the room then, because suddenly it was dark in the old classroom.

They both made no noise after that, lying there on their sleeping places with their backs turned to each other once again, but Draco knew Potter was still awake. Nothing had changed between them and they would never be able to just peacefully sleep in the same room as the other. So they would try and stay awake for as long as they possibly could and Draco at least was very determined to be the one to win this little contest of theirs.

He could of course keep himself awake with some simple charms and hexes, but not only were they not at all save or healthy to be used like this, but also 'Save-the-day-Potter', the Gryffindor ‘golden-boy' would never cheat like that and for some strange reason Draco wanted to win this battle legitimately. What was wrong with him though? He _never_ before had any doubts about using his wit and cunning to achieve a victory, did he? Doing it the Slytherin way was his birthright. So why the sudden hesitance, this utterly useless need to do it the 'Gryffindor way' like he had something to prove? What an utter waste of time, talent and strength. Still, he did indeed have the urge to prove that he could manage this little fight between them without what a Gryffindor may or may not have called ‘cheating’.

_And_ he did not want to be unconscious in the presence of the great Harry Potter. Yes, he hadn't slept in days really, but Potter didn't look like he had slept much more either.

And Draco was not at all tired. Well, probably not as tired as he had been yesterday. Probably. Though his eyelids felt rather heavy now and grew even more so by the second, now that their wands light was out and the only thing he could hear any more was Potter’s soft breathing. It was oddly soothing really. Nice over all. Draco’s mind was clearly suffering under the sleep deprivation though. Yeah, he’d noticed that. A bit.

His head was spinning again. His arms and legs felt numb and he thought... he thought.... And he was so tired....so... very...tired.

Could not sleep right now....now....Sleep. Right. Now.


	4. Sleep or no sleep

"The berth surrounding my body crushing every bit of bone

 The salt, it seeps in through the pores of my open skin  
I wait on you inside the bottom of the deep blue sea  
I wait on you inside the bottom of the deep blue

Welcome to my cage, little lover  
Attempt to rearrange with you, baby  
Still don’t know your name, Miss Honey  
Let’s go up in flames, pretty lady

The sweet surrender of silence forces me to live alone  
Locked and loaded, where the hell is peace of mind?  
I wait on you inside the bottom of the deep blue sea  
I wait on you inside the bottom of the deep blue

Welcome to my cage, little lover  
Attempt to rearrange with you, baby  
Still don’t know your name, Miss Honey  
Let’s go up in flames, pretty lady

 Welcome to my cage, little lover  
Attempt to rearrange with you, baby  
Still don’t know your name, Miss Honey  
Let’s go up in flames, pretty lady

The bottom of the deep blue see  
The bottom of the deep blue sea..."

 

["Bottom of the deep blue sea" by MISSIO](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CFEBriOa1x0)

 

* * *

 

Harry

When Malfoy had quietly left the old classroom in the morning, Harry had -to his shock- instantly become quite overwhelmed with both relief, as well as sadness at being left alone by the blonde. Relief, yes, that one was easily explained, but sadness… Harry found himself unable to figure out what was wrong with himself.

But what the actual hell was wrong with Malfoy though? Harry did not care about the Slytherin of course, but the git was acting strange (which was just another word word suspicious in Harry’s mind) and experience said that strange, unreasonably changed and odd behaviour always had a very real reason for happening. And Harry did not intend to get surprised in the end by the reason (what ever it may be) that was powerful enough to result in a change in behaviour this substantial in Draco Malfoy. Harry would have to find out what was going on.

"Kreacher!", he spoke clearly into the empty room and with an overly loud cracking noise (The elf did it especially loud to annoy the shit out off Harry, he was sure of it.) his old house elf appeared before him, filthy looking cloth wrapped around his haggard little body, he looked grumpy as ever, the scowl so deeply engraved into his wrinkly old face that it looked like it would never come off.

If one had ever had the hope that Kreacher would become even slightly more approachable, a bit nicer and politer after that talk about Regulus and the locket and everything, or after Kreacher leading the Hogwarts house elfs into battle that day maybe, well, those hopes would have been in vain. It seemed not to have meant as much to the old elf as it had to Harry.

Maybe Kreacher had simply forgotten about it, Harry had mused once and again, he was quite old after all, even for an elf as far as Harry knew. Or maybe it just hadn’t been enough. Maybe Harry had not done enough.

"Master asks for Kreacher.", Kreacher said with his nasal voice and in a clearly annoyed tone, bowing very so deeply before Harry that no one could possibly think of it as anything but mocking.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and schooled his voice to sound kind as he spoke.

"Yes, I have. Could you please bring me a small breakfast up here, Kreacher?"

One of the only phrases that Harry was able to catch from the elfs mostly unintelligible mutterings in return was:

"...but Kreacher does as Master asks of course, because...", which were the words he spoke shortly before disapparating. Harry chose to ignore the rest of Kreachers words for both of their sakes.

The elf still proudly wore his old masters locked around his neck, serving as a reminder of his old master. To Harry it served as a reminder of what might have been.

After that talk about Regulus and the locket and Harry’s and his best friends time at Grimmauld Place after that, his and Kreachers ‘relationship’, if one could call it that, had greatly improved. At least for some time it had. It had consisted of something akin to a grudging, but mutual respect for each other and even thought Kreacher had still had a hard time of showing it, Harry had known it to be there. Kreacher had no longer insulted Harry or his friends in their presence and Harry had taken great care to be a lot kinder in return.

Then there had been the... issue that it had become quite a legend how much Harry had cared for Dobby and how he had buried him and grieved for his friend, the free elf after his cruel death. Harry wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it, but house elfs everywhere seemed quite taken with him after that had gotten out. Kreacher and him and never actually talked about that of course, but well, the old elf had led the house elfs of Hogwarts into battle in the end, Harry had thought that it must have meant something to him as well and that they had now truly left behind their old ‘animosities’ and cemented their improved ‘relationship’ with each other.

Kreacher hadn’t seemed to mind caring for Harry now that they were both back at Hogwarts, hadn’t seemed to mind Harry’s antics. Only one of them being that he avoided eating with the other volunteers like the plague. At first at least, Kreacher hadn’t appeared to be bothered by that, but now… The old house elf seemed more and more discontent with Harry and Harry was unable to figure out why that was. Nothing much had changed after all so why… But what did it help to brood about that? If Kreacher had something to say to him, he’d have to say it.

The elf reappeared suddenly and with a loud cracking noise that Harry could have sworn got louder each time he called upon the old elf. Kreacher sat down a large tray with food and drink next to Harry on the wooden floor beside the small mattress he was sitting on and then disappeared with a sour expression on his wrinkly little face, barely waiting for Harry to finish thanking him properly for his effort and wishing the elf a good day. Not one word in return was spoken. It was disconcerting, yes, but Harry was not in the mood to further think about that.

Harry listlessly ate some porridge he barely tasted and while he did so, he took a look from where he sat cross legged on his sleeping place at the many different things that Malfoy had accidentally scattered across the flood that night. Harry had done his very best so far to restrain himself and not let his -by many perceived as- rather unhealthy curiosity get the best of him, as it did most of the time. He was determined to have learned something from his past experiences and why would he even care? He knew very well after all that he was not supposed to stick his nose where it did not belong and it most certainly did not belong into another persons personal things, did it? Even if those things were Draco Malfoy’s things? Yeah, but the temptation was still there though and Harry was slightly worried now that maybe following where his curiosity lead him had become far too much of a habit for him to be able to handle it that easily now.

There was something strange about all of this though and Harry was indeed very curious about it. Not just strange because the Slytherin had left those things on the floor over there in Harry’s direct line of sight…. It would be such a good opportunity to have a quick look at those items, investigate a bit and maybe find out how it came that Malfoy acted so very unlike himself.

Harry stared at the objects as if he was daring them, willing them even, to reveal themselves to him just like that and all the secrets they simply ought to hold. There always had been something mysterious about shirts and trousers and things after all, especially if a snake wore them… Not that all Slytherins were… but…

And Harry stared at the items a little while longer, his breakfast all but forgotten next to him, but they did nothing of the sort, did not reveal themselves to him, which caused Harry to have to fight himself so very hard not to get up and take a closer look at them. Because that would have been wrong, he reminded himself once again. One shouldn’t go through other peoples personal things, even if the person they belonged to was Draco Malfoy, a convicted Death Eater and Harry’s long-time-rival. No, Harry would do the right thing here and leave it alone. He also would prove everybody wrong who had ever suggested that he might be a little ‘obsessed’ with the git. Which had not been true then of course and no, he was absolutely not gonna make them right about that now either. He had been concerned back then for very, very good and very real reasons and just because nobody else had been able to see it at that point and realized that he was indeed right with his suspicions about Malfoy and what he was up to, did not mean that he hadn’t been right. Which had been proven in the end. He had been right all along about Malfoy. Now everybody knew.

The thought made Harry shudder for some reason.

Harry kept restraining himself from investigating though and just kept on staring at the items on the floor. He had no right to go through Malory's things, even though he was sure the other one wouldn't have such misgivings when it came to Harry's own things. What ever. He was not gonna do it just because Malfoy would.

Harry did not notice how his behaviour this morning differed from the previous days. He did not notice that he was acutely more aware of his surroundings this morning and did not realize that he hadn’t bothered to think about anything concerning the present moment or any possible future moments for a good long while now and never with that much fervour. He did not realize that he had started to care about things again for some reason.

Harry took a quick shower although he knew he would get himself dirty again in no time, wandering through the ruins of the castle all day. It helped keeping him awake however, so it was the done thing. It was still very early in the morning at that point too and he had some time to waste until the first shift started. He had left the half empty tray on the floor, knowing that Kreacher would most likely get it for him. Harry picked up his invisibility cloak after he’d dressed himself and put it on as he left the room. He knew this strange part of the castle well enough now not to get lost in it any more. He still felt an uncomfortable twinge of guilt somehow at the thought that he now knew one more part of the castle that the marauders had never sat foot in. He and McGonagall (and before her Dumbledore probably). And Malfoy now of course too. He clenched his fists.

Harry had thought about making his own map of the castle and add this part to what he already knew about it or maybe just fill it into the original marauders map, but he hadn't quite figured out how to do all those charms on it yet. Because if he was to do it, create an updated map, it would have to have the same qualities that made the marauders map so very valuable, or he wouldn't do it at all. He was close to figuring it out, spending a good amount of his spare time on the project, but being close wasn't good enough.

Harry had lately taken up the hobby of sneaking through the castle once again, even through those parts that he’d better leave alone because they were damaged so very badly that they could collapse at any time. But he liked the danger. It was almost like he needed it sometimes. A little thrill that told him he was still alive this was. How had it come to this though? Never mind. No, never mind indeed because he was not putting anybody in danger with his actions, he always made sure of that. Well, nobody but himself that was of course and he couldn’t care less about that.

Hermione would probably still lecture the shit out of him about how very irresponsible is actions were, tell him how foolishly he was behaving, how careless he was with his own life, until his head would hurt so badly that he wouldn’t have enough strength any more to go out there and do what he wanted to do. But Hermione was not here and Harry didn’t care.

Harry sat down in a small alcove with a window in one of the corridors of the old and undisturbed part of the castle, from which he had a good look over the grounds and the black lake. Harry opened one wing of the squeaking window and tiredly leaned his head against the cool stone beside the frame, took in the gorgeous sight of the landscape outside, relishing in the feeling of fresh morning air on his skin, breathing in deeply and closing his eyes for a second. When he opened them again he noticed a small figure on the left shore of the black lake, their light hair and pale skin gleaming in the early morning sunlight, illuminating them beautifully. It looked like the sunlight was seeping though their pores, filling them up with it like they were nothing but an empty, translucent vessel for the glory of the sunlight. Filling them until they were made out of pure sunlight themselves. A small sun of their own, only barely distinguishable from the real thing in Harry’s eyes, with the sunlight illuminating them from the inside out like it did.

It was then that Harry suddenly recognized the person he was watching, causing him to shudder violently at the realization that he had just for a moment there perceived Malfoy as beautiful. A very short moment only though and well, the Slytherin boy was very far away from where Harry sat by the window and he would have never and could not have ever found out it was him, had he not known the other boy for so many years. Also, Harry knew that Malfoy didn't look at all beautiful from a bit closer. He looked ill and sad and far too thin these day. No, not at all beautiful. There was really nothing beautiful about the guy. And with that thought Harry relaxed a bit. What ever. So he had thought the guy was beautiful _before_ he had known it was him. _Anybody_ could look like… like a god made of pure sunlight, illuminated with-with... and-and… The point was, that anybody could have looked like that from afar. It didn’t mean anything that Harry had thought of them as beautiful. What was important though was what Malfoy was doing out there at the black lake. And Harry was gonna find out.

Disguised by his cloak, Harry rushed down the corridors and stairs until he had left the building and made his way down to the black lake with hurried steps.

Malfoy still stood there, looking over the calm water of the lake. The sun had moved on. With his eyes clouded the way they were, he quite looked like he was dreaming, but if it was a good or a bad dream, Harry couldn’t tell at first.

There were fine, slightly twitching lines around the boys eyes and mouth and on his forehead, now that Harry looked a bit closer, that made the blonde look quite lost somehow and... and sad. He looked indeed so very sorrowfulnow for a moment there, that Harry almost felt a bit of pity stir within himself. And he looked indeed sick, Harry noticed and he knew of course that he didn't look much better himself, but… How had it come to all of this? It was a reoccurring thought in his mind, he was aware, something he couldn’t quite get over. He asked himself this every day about so many different things, but never understood. How was it that all things had not just fallen apart like so many had? No, eventhe things that looked like they had been spared by the… the destruction, the violence, the darkness, things that appeared to have been stayed whole, had weathered the storm successfully, they all were broken as well. Harry had realized that very early on in the process of learning how to repair things. And how could he have not? Butit wasn’t just things and stuff though that was broken, it was people too. That was the greatest tragedy of them all. Those living corpses walking around all of them, passing as living beings still, but that really were more dead then alive. And Harry was one of them, yes. Just like Draco Malfoy appeared to be; one of them as well. It was sad really, all of it, but Harry had never felt sad for himself about this. This was how he was now and it felt more natural and true to him then anything else had before that. He did feel sad and horrified and afraid for most others though. Not for Malfoy of course, but that was a completely different story.

Harry had been told that he had an ‘almost infinite capacity for kindness’ in him, for love and grieve, pity and sadness. But he was not gonna waste it on a lost cause like Draco Malfoy. He couldn't. Malfoy had brought all of this upon himself after all, unlike most other people.

Quietly Harry walked away from the spooky image of Malfoy's empty, unseeing eyes and the eerily rigid pose the boy held himself in, looking like he hadn’t moved in a century and wasn’t gonna for another two or three. He turned away and left.

 

Harry’s day was mostly rather uneventful. He did his job as usual and tried to steer clear of other people as best as he could while doing it. That was until he was sent up by McGonagall’s instruction to aid ‘Group B’. The headmistress had given him a piece of parchment that updated itself on where he was gonna be needed next. It secretly reminded Harry a bit of the chores list he had always gotten from his dear aunt Petunia, when he was still staying with the Dursley's. But now he didn't mind it, because it meant more freedom for him and a lot less contact with other volunteers. He could simply skip interaction with them. He appreciated that a lot. The craze about him hadn’t worn off yet and talking to people always meant a great deal of annoying shit he didn’t enjoy having to deal with. Skipping that was great.

The middle aged guy who was in charge of Group B, a man with the name of Strutt, was a bastard of the highest order in Harry’s opinion. The man liked being in charge far too much and Harry had noticed him abusing the power he had over the volunteers more then once in a way that made Harry quite furious. Mr. Strutt was rude, arrogant and stupid, his breath stank, spat when he talked far too loudly and still he always managed to step far too close for comfort to people. Harry had suspected more then once that Mr. Strutt might have taken the position as supervisor just to piss people off. _Him_ especially. Because Mr. Strutt seemed to really, really dislike Harry and usually Harry would be okay with that, couldn’t care less about it really, but that guy really had no reason to and showed his dislike in such an annoying way that it made it very hard for Harry to contain his anger. The bloke had taken to always make comments about Harry’s ‘fame’, when ever they met, and how Harry would just enjoy all the attention he was getting, that he loved it really. That was nothing new of course, he had heard it all before from Malfoy -for bloody years- ,but somehow it was almost okay with Harry that Malfoy thought that and had told him so a shitload of times. But he just couldn't take it when this grown up person with the absolutely ridiculous last name of 'Strutt' said things like that to him. He had no right. Not that Malfoy had ever had the right to say those things either, but Harry must have accepted it at some point in their lives, taken it as an inevitability in a way. As part of their history, their relationship. As part of them being rivals and sworn enemies. Mr. Strutt on the other hand...

 "Mr. Potter, what can I do for you this fine day?", Mr. Strutt greeted him quite charitably, but with his usual arrogant demeanour in place still, his words suggesting it was him who was about to do Harry a great favour, instead of it predictably being the other way around. As usual.

Harry wanted urgently to tell the prick that it was still him who had came to help, but he retrieved his snappish word from the tip of his tongue in the last possible moment, before they could spill from his lips.

"McGonagall sent me. You have something I’m supposed to repair?", Harry asked curtly, only barely keeping the expression of disgust off his face as he caught a whiff of the man's body odour. Mr. Strut took him by the shoulder with his large hand, quickly ‘guiding’ him down the corridor like a young child. Harry rather desperately fought the urge to push the man’s hand off his shoulder and hex the man on top of it, while simultaneously doing his best to at least not let it look like he was currently pushed down the hall. Mr. Strut quickly explained to him then which part they needed help with (Although he did not say it in those words of course, but more like suggested with every phrase that he spoke, that is was such a nice thing of him to let him do this for him, an honour even.). Harry trembled with suppressed raged when he was finally left to do his job.

Harry evaluated with some well practised spells the sequence of a wall he’d been pointed to, the small passage that lead from it and the window close by and quickly determined precisely what had to be done there, which spells he had to use to fix this. But before he could tend to it, he was interrupted by some voices close by. He sighed deeply, annoyed that his concentration had been broken and took a few tired steps backwards to have a quick assessing look though a nearby ajar hanging door into another wrecked room, where the noise seemed to have come from. Two people were standing there, one of them a slim woman in her twenties with shoulder long brown hair and dark eyes, the other was a tall but skinny man with...Oh! The other person was Malfoy. Harry watched with rapt attention then as the woman began to harshly talk to Malfoy. She was telling the blonde in a deriding tone, that it really was no wonder that he and his ‘Death Eater buddies’ had lost the war if they were all as stupid as he was.

Harry stood there shocked, realizing with a start that it had been the woman’s voice he had heard from the room he had worked on, for Malfoy did not seem to say a word while she continued to insult him mercilessly, his face staying carefully blank while hers was twisted with malice. The woman told Malfoy then that he would never be able to figure out on his own which spells he needed to do his work properly here and that he would would have great difficulty fulfilling his ministry set sentence like that, but that she was a merciful person and would help him. She would make him beg her for the knowledge though, she said. Harry was horrified. Malfoy still didn’t say a thing. The Slytherin just stood there with his head lowered a bit, clearly not daring to look her in the eyes and no expression at all on his face, like he wasn’t even truly there. It was a disturbing sight, to say the least.

Harry had never liked Malfoy, obviously, but he couldn't help but feel a bit of pity for the guy in that moment. Maybe Malfoy deserved such treatment for what he had done, but just maybe... Just maybe he didn't. Maybe no one truly deserved such treatment. Because did anybody really deserve such a thing, being kicked when they were on the ground already? Maybe it only was the silent, subdued way in which Malfoy received those words that made Harry think that, but still. There was something deeply wrong about all this. Malfoy… Malfoy wasn’t supposed to...to just _take_ it without complaint. Yes, maybe that was what bothered Harry most about this. Which in itself was disturbing and wrong in a way… What ever. This was none of Harry’s business anyway. He was not gonna interfere. He was neither young and naive, nor stupid enough to do so. Intervening here would create even more problems for all three of them, than it could ever solve. If Harry Potter would barge in to help out Draco Malfoy... No, he really shouldn't do that. Nobody wanted that, least of all… Um, probably least of all the ‘victim’.

Harry tiptoed back to his own problems and fixed them with some well chosen spells and then already was on his way to his next chore.

The time flew by, with Harry deep in thought. He was _not_ thinking of Malfoy's unusual demeanour back there and his suspicious over all behaviour. In fact, he later couldn’t even remember why he’d felt like he should do something about it all. Why it had felt so very wrong to see the other boy like that. No, not at all thinking about that. What was the Slytherin boy up to now? Not thinking about it. Any of it.

Harry had made a statement at both Draco Malfoy's and Narcissa Malfoy's trial in their favour. Which he tried to think of as little as possible most of the time to be honest. But they had both in a way saved his live and it had been the right thing for Harry to do, to tell the Wizengamot what he knew. His statement had benefited them greatly in the end and although the outcome of their trials had really been none of Harry's concern, he had been glad to hear that the Wizengamot had taken his statement into account and neither of the two of them had ended up in Azkaban. Because no, they did not deserve _that_ , that much Harry was sure of. Lucius Malfoy on the other hand… And others had not been of his opinion either. Mione and Ron for example. But Harry had his own head and did his best to repay his debts.

As soon as Harry caught his thoughts straying to that direction, he forcefully dragged his mind back from that path to a safer one.

Harry had stolen some food off the tables at lunch and at dinner again, while safely hidden under the invisibility cloak, as he was most of the day. After he’d stolen a snack for dinner he’d immediately headed back towards the old classroom. He ate while walking and just as he was done with his food, he very suddenly remembered that he was not about to return to his secure little hiding place, for it now was supposed to be home to not just himself any more, but Draco Malfoy, his nemesis as well. There was gonna be no pleasant calm and quiet to be expected there any longer and Harry suddenly felt very sick just at the thought of that. His little hiding place was lost to him.

And also, he didn't look forward to the pending confrontation with Malfoy. But it wasn't like he had a choice in the matter, now was it? No, trouble usually found Harry, that’s how it’s always been. And if it didn’t, well, someone was always kind enough to give it directions. Headmasters and now Headmistresses… It was kind of a tradition at this point. So why should Harry bother and try to prevent it from happening? No, there really was no use. Still, he didn't want to meet the blonde just yet. Harry needed some alone time first. They probably both did.

The corridors in this part of the castle were safe. There were no people around here who’d jump him and ask for things, an autograph, a blessing, help with this or that, ask for a date, try to kiss him, propose to him or in the name of their daughter or granddaughter, give him presents… He’d really been lucky today, but then again he did his best to not be recognized and cornered.

This part of the castle though was safe and quite. At least it used to be. No. No, it still was for a little while longer at least, he decided stubbornly. Harry sat down on a window sill in another alcove somewhere in one of the slender corridors up here and watched the sunset for a while. It might have been beautiful, but Harry didn't notice. He was so deep in thought, he wouldn’t have noticed it if it had hit him in the head.

 

It grew dark and a lot colder now at the open window and reluctantly Harry got up, shut the window and slowly made his way to the old classroom. To his surprise the room turned out to be empty when he got there and Harry closed the door behind himself and lit the candles and gas lamps he had installed in the room as he usually did. It gave him no comfort like it used to do. Things had changed and this was no longer his room.

Malfoy had obviously been here, Harry noticed the scattered things on the floor were gone. He looked to the Slytherins backpack and his travelling cloak on the floor. So, Malfoy really had slept just on the bare floor then. Not even a cushioning charm had been placed, Malfoy hadn’t drawn his wand. It had surprised Harry more then he cared to admit.

Harry stood up, left the classroom and tried to open the bathroom just across the corridor. To his surprise the door was locked though. It had never been locked before. Harry reminded himself then that he hadn't shared the old classroom before either though. So, Malfoy was in _Harry’s_ bathroom and was doing god knows what in there. Harry didn't like sharing his little sanctum! He most of all didn't like to share it with Draco Malfoy. This was totally unfair, destroying his safe space like that. Why had it to be always him? Couldn’t the headmistress have put the git into some unused broom closet somewhere? There were loads of those in the castle after all. Okay, yes, nobody should have to sleep in a cupboard, Harry got that. Broom closet. What a difference. Well, another room then. But no, the headmistress had made her very, very unfair decision and there was nothing that could be done about it, so Harry would try and just… take it, the change.

He went back to the classroom and sat down on his sleeping place, grimly looking over to the place Malfoy had chosen for himself once again.

From the half open backpack there were peaking some pieces of parchment and before Harry could stop himself, he held them in his hands and had returned to his mattress to sit on it while taking a good look at them. He knew it was wrong to go through the other boys things (any of them), but Harry needed to know what was going on. He would never be able to rest again if he didn’t find out what was happening with Malfoy. Harry didn't even know what the guy wanted here at Hogwarts, not for sure at least, and he was supposed to sleep in the same room as him. And he just _needed to know!_ Also, Malfoy was invading Harry’s private space, well, then Harry most certainly could do the same with his private space, couldn’t he?

But what was on those pieces of parchment surprised and utterly confused Harry. They were paintings, drawings and sketches that were so very different from one another, that it was very hard to believe that they could possibly all be from the same artist. However, they were all signed with 'D.M.', so Harry’s first suspicion was that Malfoy had stolen someone's art somewhere and somehow and put his initials on there while erasing the true artists one. It would have been the most plausible conclusion he could possibly have come up with at this point, had it not been for the little issue that most of the drawings and stuff were… Well, they were undoubtedly portraits of none other then Malfoy himself. Most of them at least. Not all of them looked exactly like Malfoy, but still, some traits on them always seemed to stayed the same and all in all there always was something in them that indicated very strongly that the person they depicted was indeed the ‘Slytherin prince’ as people had once liked to call the prat.

Harry stared the parchment with wide eyes, trying to understand what exactly he was looking at. He was a bit taken aback by the beauty of some of those drawings and tried to suppress the thought that he did if fact not like their origin or the person they depicted. Some of the drawings there were very ‘life like’, while others were not much in touch with reality at all, surreal and strange, but still... Most of them were really rather beautiful to be honest. Some were done in bright colours, some black and white. Some where looking dark in a way that made Harry’s skin crawl and some were very innocent and sweet. Some were done with clear, strong lines, while others looked delicate and wispy and flimsy in an ethereal sort of way. The style of painting and drawing was different in each. In a few of the drawings Malfoy had very long hair (longer then it was now), in some of them he had very short hair, some showed the Slytherin in very... unusual clothes or very little clothes at all. Some were showing a much older version of Malfoy, butthere always was a clear difference between him and how Harry remembered Lucius Malfoy look; some others showed Draco Malfoy as very young. In some others Malfoy looked a lot more female then he was and some of them showed him a lot more masculine then he usually looked. It was strange, but exciting in a way.

This was what Harrythought about when suddenly the real Malfoy entered the room, strongly smelling of lavender, wearing fresh clothes. Muggle clothes no less. The artist and model in one person, stood before Harry now with his wet and tousled shoulder long hair, his piercing grey eyes first looking at Harry and then down at the parchment he still held in his hands. This was when Harry remembered that he was not at all supposed to be looking through Malfoy's drawings. But before that thought could rally sink in, the blonde boy had already leaped forward and ripped the parchment from Harry's hands.

"You had no right!", Malfoy spat and Harry immediately felt the old rage and hatred in the blondes voice as he clutched his drawings tightly to his chest. Harry knew he should have felt guilty and regretful, but he didn't. He felt oddly amused and still very surprised about his findings, curious and confused too. He shook his head to try and clear his thoughts.

"I didn't know you could draw, Malfoy.", Harry said as calmly as he possibly could. He was trying not to further provoke the other boy, while he silently wondered how it was that he’d never known that his rival had a passion for the arts and could draw like this. (Because that was the conclusion he had come to in the end.) Especially because Harry had always thought that Malfoy was someone who’d proudly show off his talents. So why would Malfoy keep this talent a secret?

"It's none of your business, Potter. Don't _ever_ dare to go through my things again or I will make you regret it!", the blonde threatened. This was such a familiar scene, the both of them teasing each other, provoking and threatening each other, Harry almost wanted to cry in relief. Of course he would never do that, but... It had been such a long time since anything had felt this normal and the familiarity of it was oddly comforting. This teasing and arguing with Malfoy felt like a precious little holiday from his darkened life. It should have scared him, but it in fact did not. No, not at all.

"Promise!", Harry said smirking, holding his hands up with crossed fingers. Malfoy ignored his answer, turning around rather suddenly and walked up to his own sleeping place. If you could call it that, as it still only consisted of a travelling cloak lying on the dusty floor.

"Are you gonna sleep on the bare floor again, Malfoy, or are you gonna get yourself a mattress or something? It's hard to watch really, this tragedy, you know.", Harry said with a sneer, even if he meant it more in a teasing, fun-poking kind of way, not really maliciously. He was far too amused for anything else right now. He silently wondered why Malfoy would do that to himself, sleeping on the floor like that, but of course he couldn't ask him that. That would be awkward and Harry also didn’t care enough for that to ever happen.

"The floor isn't blank as there is quite obviously a travel cloak lying on it. I thought you might have noticed that when you went through my belongings, but you have never been an observant person, have you, Potter?", Malfoy shot back. Harry found this highly amusing fro some reason and had to work very hard to suppress a grin.

"Right... ", he replied, rolling his eyes, because that he couldn’t help. "Have fun lying on the hard floor then."

The bathroom was free now at least, so Harry chose to ignore Malfoy’s huffy face in favour of taking a shower. He quickly gathered a few things and left for the bathroom.

Closing the bathroom door behind himself, he then proceeded to ward the room with a few skilled flicks and swishes of his wand, although he wasn't sure why he felt the need to. It wasn’t like Malfoy would unlock the bathroom door, would he? There hadn’t been much of a choice about the wards he’d previously had on the classroom and no, he really had not liked dismantling them for Malfoy’s arrival, but well, he’d had to, hadn’t he? This was the bathroom though. It was different and Harry wanted to make sure to at least be safely alone in here.

He turned on the water and stepped under the warm flow of the shower when it had magically adjusted his liking. Magic, such a joy. His hands were burning at the contact of the warm water, because of the sore spots on his skin there that came from the repetitive and overly thorough washing he’d done lately. He liked the pain that came with it and served as a link to reality. He rubbed over his hands harshly to further disturb the healing process of those sore spots. He noticed then that he’d not once that day felt the need to do that, scrub his hands clean, which was… strange. Harry wasn’t sure it was a good thing, but it was easily enough explained. Things were indeed very strange at the moment so that was fitting then. Feeling more like himself then he’d felt in a very long time and increasingly feeling like becoming a new person at the same time. Strange, yes, very strange.

Harry's thoughts then drifted back to the confrontation with Malfoy then. He tried to recall the other boys face in his mind then, doing his best to understand his reactions. And then he suddenly noticed something that he hadn't noticed before. The Slytherin had had a light bruise on his chin, that hadn’t been there before that encounter, had it? Mh, no, Harry was quite sure that bruise hadn’t been there yet at the lake in the morning. He didn't like it.

Harry unhurriedly rinsed his body and relaxed in the warmth of the water.

So, Draco Malfoy had a bit of a bruise. That kind of thing happened to people playing in a ruin. Nothing to worry about, Harry repeatedly reminded himself. But he couldn't shake the feeling that the injury might have something to do with the volunteer that Malfoy had to work with. Which wasn't at all Harry's concern though.

Harry shut off the water after he’d rinsed off and stepped out of the shower, drying his skin and hair with a towel and then put on comfortable, clean cloths. He collected his things, left the bathroom and re entered the old classroom.

Malfoy was still sitting on his travel cloak there when Harry closed the door behind himself and moved to sit on his mattress.

"So, why is it that you almost exclusively draw yourself and all those pictures look so very different from each other?", Harry couldn’t help but ask out loud. It wasn’t like he expect a straight answer to that, so he was all the more surprised as Malfoy replied curtly:

"They are a case study and I try different techniques and styles." The blonde didn't look up from a piece of parchment he was sketching on, a frown on his face.

Harry thought for a second about asking Malfoy about why some of those drawings had shown him as so much younger or older or... There were those that made him almost look like a girl or well, a lot more masculine then he actually was. Harry was curious about that as well and now that Malfoy appeared to be in a mood to answer questions… But he quickly dismissed the thought. Harry favoured an other approach, one that was less out of character for him.

"I mean, I get that you're a self centred bastard and all... You've always been a narcissist obviously, but have you really not noticed that your eyes are in fact _not_ green, but grey? Or is that just your wishful thinking?", Harry asked with a sneer and curiously noticed how Malfoy blanched at this simple question. Harry thought he might have never before seen the other boy blanch like that. Other then the night before maybe when they’d first come face to face since the trials.

The blonde didn't move for a short moment and Harry asked himself if he might just have stumbled over a hidden insecurity of Malfoy's. Could it be that the once so proud Slytherin prince didn't like the colour of his eyes and wished for them to be green? It seemed so ridiculously petty and shallow thing to worry about, coming to think of it. Could his reaction really be about something so superficial and unimportant? Yes, Malfoy had always been an arrogant little ponce, but after everything? Why would he still care about that? And if it wasn’t about that, what else could it be though? What could that reaction mean? All the other things he’d said were nothing new. He’d said all of that to Malfoy a hundred times and more. No, it was about the eyes, he was sure of it.

The confusion must have shown on Harry's face, because Malfoy seemed to slowly relax. Harry’s opportunity to further investigate the 'green eye thing' had passed with that, the Slytherin’s masks were in place once again. But Harry wouldn't let the git go so easily.

"So, why are you here exactly, Malfoy?", he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Instead of the familiar haughty sneer appearing on Malfoy's face, his features became almost blank for a moment.

"It is as part of my sentence that I have come here and help rebuild the castle.", Malfoy said through gritted teeth, but otherwise did not show show any feelings. Harry wasn't surprised really. He had figured that was the only possible explanation for Malfoy to be tolerated here, helping with the rebuilding as part of his sentence. It only surprised Harry that it nobody had been told about this. Apparently the papers had kept quiet about this or they simply hadn’t known either. Not that Harry read the papers, but most everybody else did and people tended to want to talk to him about things like that. Which most of the time was quite stressing really.

Looking curiously at the other boy Harry couldn't help but ad:

"You mean, you are here to help rebuild what you tried to tear down?" He regretted his words as soon as they’d left his mouth.

"Yes, Potter, that is exactly what I meant, but thank you for pointing that out again. My purpose here is so much clearer to me now.", Malfoy shot back sarcastically. His words surprised Harry, kind of made him want to laugh too, but not just that. _W_ _hy_ again was it that Harry had instantly regretted his words? He hadn’t really thought about that. They were true words after all, weren't they? So what was there to regret? ' _I_ _must_ _not_ _tell lies._ ', or so he had been told.

And then Harry saw the look on Malfoy's face. To someone who didn’t know the blonde as well as Harry did, his expression would have been blank, but to Harry… Well, Harry had noticed the slight twitch in the corner of Malfoy’s mouth, that indicated him trying to hide his amusement about something. If this conversation hadn't mostly consisted of enmities and insults, one could almost have mistaken it as being somewhat friendly. _T_ _hey_ did _not_ have friendly conversations under any circumstances. They were enemies, had been from their first encounter on, almost. Harry was shocked and confused. What was happening? What was happening to Harry? What was happening to _them_?

"What ever, Potter. I'm going to sleep now, so please have the kindness to shut your mouth.", Malfoy now said stiffly, disturbing the uncomfortable silence between them. All Harry could do was answer with a derisive snort and lay down on his mattress, as did Malfoy, the sounds the prat made indicated. Harry put out the candles and gas lamps with a flick of his wand.

Then they just lay there on their respective sleeping places, back to back if you will. It was strange. And Harry knew he wouldn't and he couldn't sleep like this. Not with _him_ there in the room, lying just some meters away from him.

Harry hadn't slept in too fucking long though and how the hell was he supposed to keep awake? He wasn't one to run out of the room, no. Especially not after having just turned off the light like the idiot he was. Merlin was he stupid. But no, he wasn't gonna show Malfoy how much the entire situation bothered him. He wasn't gonna sleep either though and be unconscious in the presence of a Malfoy. He would do what he had to do then. It wasn't like the Slytherin ponce would play fair after all. So, why the hell should Harry?

 'Rennervate', Harry thought and quietly tipped his wand at his temple, working the spell as he threatened to fall asleep. He knew using it like that wasn’t good for his health, so he used a mild stinging hex on his arms in-between and then ‘Rennervate’ again and again and again.

Until an odd noise woke him from the almost hypnotic state his repetitive actions had put him in.

He heard Malfoy shift in his place, murmuring something and then Harry heard a soft whimper. _That_ sure as hell was something Harry would have never thought he’d be hearing coming from Draco Malfoy. Harry slowly turned around on his mattress and stared across the room at the sleeping form of the blonde boy, trying to figure out from afar what was going on over there.

Malfoy was curled up into a ball on the flood and again little whimpers and other small, strangled noises came from his body. Harry sat up slowly, still staring at the other boy in utter disbelief and shock.

It wasn’t that dark in the room with the shutters open like they were and Harry’s eyes had gotten used to the lack of proper light as well, so that he could tell that the blondes body was shaking violently now, all but convulsing on the floor. Harry jumped upon his bare feet and rushed across the room to kneel beside the sleeping boy. Malfoy's pale face was contorted in pain and wet with tears, his mouth trembling and moving but not speaking, while one violent shudder and tremble after anothershook his frail looking body. He was squirming on the ground now like he was trying to break free from invisible hands trying to pin him to the ground, hurting him. Malfoy was having a nightmare and a bad one at that.

Harry knew nightmares well, he had them all the time and this one was a really bad one, he could tell. And for a second then Harry forgot about this being Draco Malfoy whom he’d hated for year. He forgot that they’d been enemies ever since first year and forgot all the had things they’d done to each other as well and only saw a boy in pain lying before him then. With his face was skewed up in horror and pain, his lips trembling and fresh tears still streaming down his face. Then a cry of pure agony rose from the boy’s mouth and Harry was covering his ears before he even knew he was doing it. The boy screamed like not only his body was tormented and tortured in a place that could only be hell, but mind and soul as well. Harry had never heard something this devastating in all his life and he wanted it to end. No, he _needed_ for this horrifying noise to stop this very instant! He couldn't take it, couldn't handle the pain that resonated so very deeply within himself, felt now almost like it was his own. He felt it shake him that inhuman cry, shaking lose parts of himself, trying to tear him apart piece by little piece until there was nothing left of him. It hurt so much, hurt so much.

Harry’s hand grabbed the boy’s shoulders, shaking him violently, screaming at him to wake up, to stop the cries and screams. But the blonde boy was stuck in his nightmare it appeared.

It almost seemed like the he was holding onto that dream like his very life depended on it. Harry had never met anyone so unwilling to wake from their nightmares. But then the boy’s eyes suddenly snapped opened, wide with shock and horror they stared at Harry.

And that was when Harry remembered that it was Malfoy who's shoulders he still held in a firm grip and let go of him immediately as if burned. He could still see the shadows in the other boy’s eyes though, trying to pull him back into darkness, drag him down into a deep abyss from where nobody ever returned.

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Malfoy's don't cry

"...But I will be bounded by your fears

And won't you ever disappear

with your love.

Those shadows in my heart won't go..."

["Mirror" by FOXOS](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BGE5VjxMRPc)

* * *

_ Draco: _

Pain, despair, grief, regret and fear. Dark impressions of past events were swirling through Draco's mind in absolute disarray. He had never before known that much pain, had never been this hurt before. He lost in that moment the knowledge of where and who he was _–_ _that moment_ _that might as well have been eternity, for the very concept of time, the concept of something that had been before and something that came after, was inconceivable to him -_ , because all that was him, was now filled with pain, despair, grief, regret and fear. There was nothing left of Draco and all that he was now was hurt.

Draco Malfoy was ripped out of existence in that moment and left of him was only this mess of a body without a name; a pale, blond boy that was forced to live through the worst torment imaginable.

Something was ripping the boy apart from the inside out, bit by bit, piece by piece, trying to dissolve even the pitifully small and fragile core that had been left of him. Blood would have been everywhere, had this at all been a physical injury, but it was not. This was a mental, a spiritual kind of pain that should never have been unknown to human kind in this intensity. A wild and unadulterated force of pain that quite literally ripped his soul apart, bit by bit, piece by piece. It should not have existed.

And yet it did and there was nothing he could do about it. Holding onto consciousness was futile then and everything went dark as the pain became too much to bear even for the shell of a person that he was.

 

A blonde boy was sitting alone in a dark room. Unfamiliar hands he felt on his shoulders, their strong fingers digging into his hurting flesh like claws, so strong they gripped him. It hurt badly, but everything hurt in that moment.

The shadows were still there, wouldn't leave the blonde boy. They stood there still, his shadows, in the corners of his eyes they lingered and waited for him to blink his shock widened eyes. He did not dare to, but the longer his burning eyes stood open, the clearer his surroundings became. He was in a room full of old things and dust. And there was a pair of piercing, vivid green eyes that frightened him with their intensity. They were part of a person, the blonde boy understood, but he was unable to see the full picture yet. As frightening as those green eyes were, even hidden behind round glasses as they were, they were the only thing that felt real in this room, the only thing that could capture him, connect and anchor him in reality. So he just kept on staring into their depths as if his life depended on it. Because it did.

The pair of hands let go of his shoulders then and those vivid green orbs became more distant. And then the whole picture came to the blonde boy, that now had a name again and it was Draco. Draco Malfoy. Everything that was him came rushing back with blunt force and he became a person again, not just pain, despair, grief, regret and fear any more. He was a person. A human being on the brink of total destruction, the brink of insanity or death for all he knew. And he had never know hurt like this before.

His face felt cold and wet and he numbly, almost unconsciously, raised a hand to feel his own cheeks. With an air of shocked detachment he noticed tears were still falling from his eyes, running freely down his fair skin.

“Malfoy's do not cry!”, a sharp voice in his head furiously berated him. Draco involuntarily flinched at the harsh words and the cold voice he knew so very well.

Draco felt his hands clasp onto an unknown warmth, pulling it closer to himself. He felt the thing squirm under his insistent hands and then it went still. Time passed. And then, finally, he felt the warm thing move in, closing around him, holding him tightly to its warmth. Draco immediately felt his body starting to give in, relax in utter relief and his raw, pained soul gently being soothed.

The warmth and softness around him grew tighter and closer, but Draco only ever felt safer, being completely enveloped in this warm softness and safety. He felt less alone like this and everything else ceased to matter as Draco closed his eyes, safe from the shadows for once.

There was a calming humming noise surrounding him and the faint smell of moist earth, cinnamon and honey. Draco was wrapped in all good things and he felt so save. Never felt so safe. Finally, there wasn't a thing to be worried about or be afraid of or sad about. And everything was going to be okay.

Once more darkness claimed Draco Malfoy as he slowly drifted into a dreamless slumber, held in a tight embrace by his nemesis.

 

 

Harry

Harry had removed his hands from Draco Malfoy's shoulders when the blonde had opened his eyes. Mercury silver eyes that still looked a bit hazy with the remnants of the nightmare, the lingering shadows. Harry had never seen eyes quite like these before. Shining with an almost eerie, slightly feverish light from within their depths, stormy and enigmatic and utterly captivating in the sadness and vulnerability they displayed. Hadn't they been grey just hours before? It must have been a trick of light, because as those wide eyes were fixed on Harry's green ones, the raven haired boy could see very clearly that Malfoy's eyes truly were of a dark silver colour, just like mercury, not at all the pale grey he remembered from before. He'd never seen anything like them, but the shadows still lingered there, Harry could see that. He could see them in the corners of Malfoy's shock widened eyes.

There was no sign of recognition in the blondes eyes though, as he stared into Harry's eyes and for a second the Gryffindor feared that the other boy might be hurt beyond repair somehow. Suddenly Malfoy’s pale hands shot at Harry, reached for him quite desperately, arms throwing themselves around Harry’s waist and clutching the fabric of his thin jumper tightly as he pulled Harry impossibly closer.

No, this wasn't right! Malfoy wouldn't want that if he were in his right mind! He’d never want _that! Harry_ didn't want that! He futilely squirmed in the blonde boys tight grasp, but there was no getting free from the Devils Snare that was Draco Malfoy's strong arms. And Malfoy was _not_ in his right mind, Harry had to remind himself and he clearly needed comfort or something and even though Harry neither knew much about comforting people in general, nor had any clue how to handle a Malfoy in this strange condition, he would not let the other boy go and sink back into the darkness he’d come from. Harry was gonna do his best to make things better for someone. For once in his miserable existence, Harry would do something to actually, truly help someone.

Harry scooted closer to the blonde, arranging his limbs so that he was comfortable and closed his arms around the others thin frame. He pulled him as close as he possibly could and felt the unfamiliar body relax against his own. Malfoy's tear stained face was buried in Harry's chest. Harry had positioned himself facing Malfoy and so close that their thighs touched from hip to knee. He could lean their torsos against each other like that as he held Malfoy’s slumped body close. The others arms were straining still, clinging to Harry desperately. Harry caught himself stroking Malfoy's hair with one hand, surprised at how soft and fine it was, while simultaneously rubbing small circles on the others back with his other. He was quietly humming an unfamiliar melody in a low voice, that had come to him from nowhere. Harry was surprised how the whole comforting thing came so naturally to him, almost like a reflex he hadn’t known he possessed.

He felt Malfoy relax more and more into the embrace, his breathing became more even and deeper too, his heartbeat slowed down.

The strangeness of having the other boy’s body so close to his own slowly diminished and Harry realized he liked the feeling of having another person in such a tight and in a way intimate embrace. He felt himself relax as well, unconsciously synchronizing his breathing with the others, closing his eyes and enjoyed the peacefulness of the moment.

The blonde boy had drifted back to sleep it seemed and Harry felt close to sleep himself. He carefully shifted their position and lay them both down beside each other on the floor.

It would be one hell of an awakening for Malfoy in the morning, Harry thought then. He really should go back to his own sleeping place now. He should entangle his limbs from Malfoy's and pretend like nothing had happened. He should forget about everything and... But he couldn't. He indeed felt a sharp pang at the thought of that. And feeling the blondes heart beating in a steady rhythm so close to his own heart, feeling their shared warmth all around him... He felt the mercy of human touch that could sometimes erase all the evil in the world and even the most painful of memories. Harry didn't want to let go of the one true feeling this embrace had embedded inside of him and that was peace. It was the most precious feeling Harry had had in a very long time.

On the other hand, if he didn’t let go now, Malfoy would be sure to rip fates small kindness from Harry as soon as he awoke. Harry couldn't even bear the thought of such violence in this very unexpected, but undeniably soul- soothing moment that he felt so at peace with himself and the world.

So he slowly disentangled himself from the other boy's body, as careful as he possibly could, looking at Malfoy's sleeping form beside him one last time, before getting up and quietly walking over to his own sleeping place. He picked one of his own blankets up and walked back to the blonde, gently draping it over his frail looking body. He looked so peaceful right now, so much younger, almost innocent and Harry couldn't refrain from brushing a few loose strands of pale hair out of the others face. A deep, shuddering sigh came from the sleeping boy’s pink lips.

Harry tiptoed back to his mattress and lay down quietly, pulling another one of his blankets over himself, trying not to feel bereft at the loss of the other boys warmth. He lay with his back to him, but that didn't feel right any longer, so he turned around and looked over to that pale face again, that he had never before seen like he did now. In the faint light of the moon, dully falling though the uncovered window panes, Malfoy's face looked almost angelic. And although Harry had seen the hurt and pain now that undoubtedly lay behind those masks the Slytherin always wore, the boy looked nothing but peaceful at this moment.

Had this really just happened? Had Malfoy really cried and screamed and had Harry really comfort his enemy? Had it truly feel that right and good to help Malfoy that Harry had barely been able to let go? Most of all: Did he really care? Yes. No. Maybe.

Nothing. His eyes closed and he fell asleep, with no answers having come to his mind.


	6. Intimate silence

I once was held back

Bright luck came by

Don't you ever let the seed blow

 Eyes will be blinded by grief so

Call me higher

It takes over cover me please too

I don't mind if you see nothing at all

Come in line how would you let it all fall

Underneath the chains I saw them lying

Heart over mine unless

It's up to you

Light up light every corner right under

Eyes will be blinded by grief so

Call me higher

It takes over cover me please too

["Bright Luck" by Portico (feat. Jono McCleery)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bhIdGp0f6fg)

 

* * *

Draco:

The first rays of early morning sunlight tickled Draco’s face, waking him slowly from the soothing darkness that was rare dreamless slumber. He opened his eyes, sleepily gazing at the cracked stone ceiling of the room that was intersected with thick wooden struts quite randomly it looked like. The wood was so old it quite possibly was fossilized. Draco let his gaze move through the rest of the room, trying to remember where he was. His gaze came to a halt at the shocking sight of Harry Potter’s sleeping form under a dirty looking patch work blanket. It was then that memories of the past night came rushing back to Draco, making his head hurt miserably with the overwhelming, heavy significance of it all. At first he couldn’t quite decide if the things he suddenly remembered had truly happened like that or at all really, or if they’d been part of a very horrifying and seriously fucked up nightmare. He decided that he’d rather not know for as long as possible. Because if any of that had happened, Potter - as soon as he’d wake - would make sure to let everybody know the exact extend of how deeply Draco had humiliated himself.

Draco quietly got up from the dusty wooden floor, muscles tense and sore all over, noticing that the travelling cloak he thought he’d slept on lay crumpled somewhere to the side. In the process of standing up on his stiff legs, a woollen blanket slipped from where it had apparently been draped over his body. Draco was unable to remember how he had gotten himself a blanket and silently prayed to all known and unknown deities of the world that the Hogwarts house elfs were responsible for it’s sudden appearance in his life, simultaneously trying his best to exorcise every last stray thought of how else this blanked might have made its way to him.

He moved carefully as he picked up a towel and fresh clothes from his backpack, trying not to move too fast. His pained body wouldn’t take kindly to that, especially his pounding head. He made his way from the classroom to the bathroom across the corridor all but staggering, but he managed, even without rousing Potter it appeared.

Did Potter really sleep with him present in the room, or was he just pretending to sleep? To think he’d dare to... Although, Draco himself had obviously slept last night in the same room as his enemy. And he had also let Potter comfort him, according to the very creepy pictures his addled brain had presented him with, if they could be trusted to be memories instead of remnants of hellish nightmares.

They were not really nightmares though, were they? No, he couldn’t truly make himself believe that to be the case any longer. It was quite clear that this had actually happened.

That realization made Draco a bit ill, to be honest.

And he hadn’t simply allow this to happen either, he had _wanted_ the other boys comfort in that moment, had _craved_ it, _needed_ it. It had been Draco who had looked for physical contact, for touch. He had initiated this himself. Yes, and Draco remembered it now very distinctly, could almost feel it on his body, Potters gentle touch. Draco felt himself being unable to fight the blush that was creeping onto his face at that thought. But no, he was not going to think of it like that. This was a _problem_. The whole bloody mess of it. How did that even happen though? It wasn’t at all like Draco to lose it like that and most certainly not with people around to witness his little mental breakdown. Never before had anybody seen him like that, never before had anybody... No, he would not allow such a thing, would not stand for it. Showing weakness like that was not just humiliating and absolutely beneath his dignity, but very dangerous. No, the incident in the lavatory in 6 th year did _not_ count. That had been a totally different thing.

So what desperately had to be figured out now was what the bloody hell had gotten into him last night. This needed solving, this mystery, this problem, as quickly as possible.

Clearly he had not been himself, after all, crying in front of Harry bloody Potter of all the people in the world was not the ‘Malfoy-thing-to-do’. Not a thing to do for any respectable person of the wizarding community. And the very last thing Draco would have normally done in any state of consciousness.

Gods, he was never gonna live this down. What had he been thinking? Right… He hadn’t been thinking at all, that was the only possible explanation really. But why though? Why hadn’t he been thinking? He wasn’t usually the type to so… so utterly lose it like he had. He’d never lost his ability to think so completely. Why was all of this happening to him?

 

Draco deliberately took his time in the bathroom.

He still had difficulties accepting what had occurred that night, still argued with himself about it, cursing the fates and all of the gods at the same time. However, the most prominent thought in his mind was how very… _unwilling_ he was to face Potter again. He spent a good amount of time thinking desperately about how he could avoid ever coming across Potter again, but his mind was absolutely blank at that.

Had he put a simple silencing charm around himself for the night, none of this would have happened, yet he hadchosen not tobecause of some very stupid, inconveniently placed pride that he hadn’t even known he still had. And in consequence of that he now had to face a very, very smug Potter, whom Draco had just handed the perfect weapon to do him in once and for all with his childish dramatics that night, putting himself at the ‘Saviours’ mercy, totally, utterly defenceless. He felt the bile rise in his throat.

His current situation somehow had Draco thinking about his trial again, a topic he usually avoided thinking about at all costs. It had been one of the most humiliating things he’d ever have to live through, but not because he’d been forced to talk about all kinds of painful and shameful things in front of a large, unsympathetic audience, but because of… Well, because of Potter.

Because Potter had to come rushing into his life once more, playing the hero, the martyr, the bloody Samaritan where ever he could and as he always did. For whom he did that you ask, or to what end? Who fucking knows. The ‘saviour’ probably didn’t even know himself why he did the stupid shit he did, but he obviously had been unable to stay away.

He had come to the rescue, not caring one bit if the victim of his heroism even wanted or needed any ‘saving’. The ignorance of that arrogant prick… So Potter had barged into the hearing, delivering a statement in Draco’s _defence_ of all things, even though none of this had anything to do with him. Draco’s trial had been his own sodding business and his alone, but no of course Potter had to… And well, the Wizengamot had of course been unable to ignore ‘Harry - saviour of the wizarding world – Potter’s statement. And now Draco owed the arse even more then he had before that fiasco. He hated that.

Draco didn’t even want to think of how Potter had crashed his mothers trial as well and what he must have said to keep her out of Azkaban. Yeah, that had made it all so much worse and he hadn’t thought that possible. He had been proven wrong once again.

But really, it had been such a ‘Harry-Potter-thing-to-do’, running in there and keeping them from a prison sentence. ‘Golden boy’ had probably thought it was the right thing to do, like the stupid Gryffindor he was. Had probably thought he owed them, however fucked up that was. And Narcissa would most likely have agreed. Draco did not. But even that… Even with the conviction that doing what he did was ‘the right thing to do’, Potter had been unable to spare him a single glance. The mighty hero couldn’t be bothered to even look at the person he defended once. Potter had probably realized that he wouldn’t be able to go through with this pious act of his, that he had somehow convinced himself he had to do, if he took but one look at the vile, disgusting person he must have known he was about to set free. So Potter had sat there only a few feet away and discussed Draco’s life without even acknowledging his presence in the room, gambling with his life as if it were nothing. Potter had judged his actions as if he knew, as if he understood. But he knew nothing, nothing at all about what Draco had experienced. And Draco had been at this mercy then. He’d felt so raw and pained with that knowledge and the realization that the mercy he was receiving at his enemy’s hand was even less then pity. He’d been unable to talk, unable to scream and shout like he wanted to. Unable to ask why the hell Potter was there, why the fuck he thought he had a right to talk and _defend_ him in court - in front of bloody everybody - when he couldn't even look at him.

But nothing, _nothing_ could have prepared Draco for how bare and how at Potter’s mercy he felt right now. Th at past situation was nothing compared to how… h ow vulnerable Draco felt now. His mask… _A_ _ll_ of his masks had been torn from him that night and there had been nothing left but his deepest hurt and despair beneath it, raw and bleeding and laid out there in the open for Potter to see it all.

He’d much rather sit in front of the whole of the Wizengamot again, having a bunch of ignorant wizards and witched interrogate and judge his life worst choices once more then to face Harry Potter after what he’d seen this night. Broken Draco, weeping Draco. His face was burning with shame and humiliation at just the thought, but there was nothing he could do but bear it.

 

Draco steeled himself and entered the classroom, quietly shutting the door behind himself as he stepped inside. And there he stood then frozen, all remaining energy leaving his body as the force of Potter’s vivid green eyes met his own like a fucking blow to the head. He felt strangely bare and almost breathless with it all and absent mindedly wondered if it had always been like that with him or if this was a new thing.

He became aware then that he’d unwittingly leaned back against the closed door in his back to keep himself standing, feeling quite faint all of a sudden.

Those cursed emerald eyes. The ones that had guided Draco last night from the brink of insanity back to reality, watched him now searchingly and something akin to anticipation almost was hiding beneath it together with... wonderment? How strange, Draco thought to himself and all but incidentally felt himself lose himself in the sight of the sparkling infinite depths of those eyes once more. It was so easy to forget everything around him when _his_ mesmerizing eyes were fixed on him, far too easy.

Draco came to realize with a suddenly jolt that he had completely dropped his masks of indifference and superiority or boredom or… And -And all of his barriers were down, all of the walls he’d build around himself had crumbled beneath those green eyes. His mind was left utterly bare and his vulnerable soul was all but presented on a silver platter.

He had no idea what his face was showing at that moment and that had never happened to Draco before. It terrified him more then anything and he immediately began to rearrange his features to forcibly conceal his emotions. Sweat broke out all over his body and there was a tremor starting deep in his bones that was quickly starting to spread and threatened to overwhelm his body as he tried to break their tangled gazes. The stony expression he’d put there on his face to cover the strain and the unwanted emotions was the only thing protecting him now. But couldn’t, he realized that he was unable to look away from Potter’s eyes.

This was not natural, he knew it wasn’t. This was some kind of magic at work here that was forcing Draco to be so _enthralled_ with those eyes _,_ something was keeping him looking into those depths he did not want to be so close to, that he did not want to get to know. He did not want to look, he did not want to _see_. It was cruel and painful and Draco was utterly terrified.

And then something happened that Draco would not have expected to happen in a million years. Potter turned his head, broke the eye contact binding them and then…. pretended like nothing had happened. And Draco… Draco stood there, all but sinking to the floor with the relief of being released and he was so very, very grateful all of a sudden that he almost felt like crying. Yes, crying.

He did _not_ however, but instead rushed to his designated sleeping place on the floor there as soon as he’d gathered his bearings again, his travelling cloak still crumpled at the side somewhere. As well as the blanket that Draco had decided a house elf had brought him in the night.

He put down his things and went on to collect some items he needed for the day. As if nothing had happened, just like Potter had done before.

But he had seen it in Potters eyes. Draco had looked too deeply and he had seen the same fear in them that he knew his own eyes held. And they were knowing eyes now, he’d realized, eyes that had seen him, Draco, in pain, at his most vulnerable. And that was how Potter had confirmed that those pictures in Draco’s mind were in fact memories and not just nightmares.

It was… It _should_ have been terrifying. And it was, but most of all… Most of all it was odd. The whole thing was very, very odd, to say the least. Harry Potter comforting Draco Malfoy as he cries because of some sodding nightmare? No. Nobody would ever believe that. Which was a good thing most like. But _why_ had Potter done it? It was so… so strange and, and just plain _wrong_ for him to do that! Even Saint Potter’s bloody ‘hero-complex’ could not explain this strangeness away. So why the hell had he done it? Why had Potter ‘helped’ Draco and didn’t even exploit the situation afterwards by taunting him the next day? Or was this all part of some elaborate scheme? But no, Potter’s plans never worked out unless they were sponsored by Granger and even then… But the annoying know-it-all would never participate in something like this, would she? No, Draco didn’t think so. And ‘The-boy-who-lived-to-infuriate’ was infamous for stumbling into situations, even with a more or less working plan at hand, he would still always mess everything up. And get out alive anyway. No, if this had been some kind of scheme, Draco would have caught Potter at it right away.

So back to the start then. Why had Potter… ‘comforted’ Draco?

At least… At least there hadn’t been any pity in the Gryffindor’s eyes this morning. Eyes… Another strange thing, yes. There had been magic at play here, it must have. There was no other way to explain it all, but why and who had done it? Potter seemed just as caught off guard by everything that was happening as Draco himself was and... But nobody had breached Draco’s mind, nobody had tried to pry into his mind, he knew that much. He would have known instantaneously if that had happened at any point, even with his mind shields completely down. But if not that…

Potter had left the room without a word. Draco was so deep in thought barely even noticed.

  

Harry: 

Harry woke from the sound of the door shutting. With a slightly pained groan he opened his heavy eyelids and tried to asses how bad the damage to his body was without moving. It was a routine he had gotten used to at some point, because of it’s necessity for his survival. After all, you shouldn’t move too much or too carelessly with deep, gaping wounds that can make you bleed out in seconds if you move the wrong way.

His body hurt, yes. His muscles and tendons felt sore all over, and his bones ached somehow, but the pain was rather mild and dull. No sharp pain as he carefully began to stretch his stiff limbs. This was a good thing and he sighed deeply. He was not in the tent any more, which was the best news of them all probably and he was not in the infirmary either, which was doubly good. He was in the old classroom, his bones were not broken and there were no deep cuts on him as far as he could tell.

The door closing mean that Malfoy had left the room he realized and that meant one of two things:

A) Malfoy didn’t remember anything at all from last night.

or

B) He didn’t mind.

To be honest, Harry was far too exhausted to be bothered finding out which one of them it was. He could barely keep his eyes open as it was, but he knew he had to get up. The day was starting soon. There were loads of work that had to be done and Harry couldn’t just not show up. If he truly didn’t want to be treated like he was anything ‘special’, like he had claimed for years now (and nobody had believed him), he had to behave like it. He had to take responsibility and reliably do his work like he had promised he would. Just like everybody else did who had volunteered to help. And he had to stick to his promised even more then the rest of them, because he had something to prove hadn’t he?

Harry sat up and rubbed his eyes harshly. He yawned and stretched his arching limbs again.

A quick ‘tempus’ told him that he still had a good amount of time until the first shift started. He could have slept still if it hadn’t been for Malfoy waking him, but then again he’d probably dodged a bullet there and saved himself the pain of having another nightmare.

Just as he was about to get up, Malfoy re-entered the room, quickly and quietly closing the door behind himself. Harry realized only slightly bewildered that he must have stared off into space for quite some time then if the other boy was already back. Time was a strange thing though. It seemed to have a mind of it’s own and worked in quite mysterious ways, never the same. Sometimes time went by so slow that one could barely tell if it went past at all and then it sped by like crazy.

Time was so slow now that Harry felt like he had been caught in treacle or honey or something like it.

Harry realized then that his eyes were fixed on Malfoy’s dark grey eyes without him having made the conscious decision to seek them out. Hadn’t he thought just a little while ago that they were… They were wide and grey or a bit silver maybe and they looked straight into Harry’s eyes and he felt mesmerized, enthralled, like he couldn’t look away.

Malfoy was leaning with his back against the closed door and he didn’t say a word, just stared into Harry’s eyes like Harry stared into his. Something about this was very strange and maybe this was because Harry’s brain was still half asleep. They never looked at each other like that after all and it could all be a dream, but it was electrifying and scary at the same time and Harry could hear his own heartbeat thundering and the rush of blood in his ears. It was not supposed to happen, none of this was.

Harry felt for a brief moment like maybe he would be unable to their tangled gazes if he tried. But there was no real need. So he just allowed himself to look into those eyes, that were purely grey then and he felt himself waver and doubt for a second, almost believed that nothing had happened last night. But no, it _had_ happened! This whole situation was proving that something had happened, something had changed, but Harry could also remember it all now, every single second of it he remembered clearly, could almost taste the desperation in the air again, feel the suffocating pain he had witnessed as if it was his own and all but heard the horrifying screams and cries that had torn from Malfoy’s body. He felt that same fear he had felt then. A shiver went down his spine as the pictures of the night came rushing back to him.

He stared into those greyish eyes still, seeing the blonde lean against the door, looking… fearful. Malfoy did not look at all how he used to look. He wasn’t wearing any masks at all like Harry was so used to seeing there on his face. The carefully blank looks, the disdain that never betrayed him, the feigned superiority and the sneers of disgust and all of that it, they were nowhere to be found. Harry had know that at least part of it had always been a mask, had known it since that night… Had known. But now… Instead of his masks Malfoy was now wearing a wide range of emotions openly on his face. The expression in his eyes and on his face were so quickly changing from one to another that Harry had difficulty catching them all before they morphed into the next. Malfoy seemed utterly unable to hide them and wasn’t it strange that Harry thought that he might be just witnessing Malfoy - the real Malfoy - making an appearance for the very first time since they’d known each other. He finally looked like a himself, Harry thought and he wasn’t so sure he knew what he meant by that.

With Malfoy’s eyes fixed on his like they were, Harry now truly understood why people called them ‘the window to someone's soul’. There it lay, Draco Malfoy’s soul, bare beneath Harry’s gaze.

This was when Malfoy’s expressions suddenly froze, before slowly starting to rearrange themselves before Harry’s eyes, contorting the features of his face almost beyond recognition and turning them into the stony expression of one of his old masks. And Harry felt hurt to be shut out like this and the pain of it was so immense that he failed to wonder why that was.

Harry watched with some fascination how Malfoy started to struggle against their tangled gazes, trying to break free from it but couldn’t. Harry knew how that must feel, he had sensed the same problem just moments ago, although now he was more or less sure that he would be able to break free from what ever kept them staring into each others eyes. He could break this intimate connection so that Malfoy wouldn’t have to struggle against it. Harry himself found he did not really mind the intimacy of what ever it was that was happening, but instead feeling almost tempted by it to investigate further, take a deeper look, felt lured into the depth of it, wanted to seek out the core of it all, wanted to understand, to find out. But Malfoy was not inclined to allow that it seemed and Harry decided to let him go.

Harry turned his head slowly, feeling the pull still but withstood it and broke the contact. He knew Malfoy’s eyes were still set on him, but Harry made the decision to ignore that and instead pretend as if nothing had happened. He would make it easy for Malfoy, he would let the other boy keep his last bit of pride and let him keep his masks too to shield his vulnerable insides. He would let Malfoy hide from the truth, would let him hide from himself and from the only person that had seen him for who he really was too, if that was what he needed. And it seemed like it was because Harry knew without a doubt in that moment, that the Slytherin couldn’t live without his protective shields and mask right now. Maybe some day. Maybe someday Malfoy could be who he truly was.

Harry’s own thoughts didn’t make much sense to him, but he just let them be, let it happen. Instead of doubting and debating and investigating, he chose to ignored the curious direction they had strayed to.

Harry noticed with half a mind that Malfoy rushed to his ‘sleeping place’ on the ground and he could almost feel the blonde boy pondering and brooding over the last events and he knew why. They were scary thoughts, scary things and they lingered in Harry’s mind too, albeit a bit calmer it seemed. Harry had sensed no immediate danger in that situation and he usually did when things started to go sideways. And yet, it was unsettling in a way and Harry had no explanation for what was happening or why. He had no clue what was going on between them, why they acted so different then they used to do or why they reacted to each other the way they did.

And then there was this tension in the air, steadily building. Harry felt it tingling and prickling on his skin, felt it press against his restless mind too and he could swear he felt it in his very core, shifting and shaping and doing things. It was distant a change, hard to grasp, but Harry felt it. It was like a silent premonition hanging over their heads, teasing and never quite telling what was about to happen, but making sure they both knew something was coming. It was irking Harry that he hadn’t a clue what that thing was that was nearing them, because something was, he just knew it. However, he didn’t feel unsafe really, with this knowledge that he didn’t know where it had come from and maybe he should have, but it felt like… It felt like something was finally about to slide back into place again. Like something was about to be mended, be made whole again. Like things were about to get fixed and that was strangely soothing.

This was an odd thing to think. It was an odd thing over all. After all, Harry wasn’t exactly the clairvoyant kind of person, he knew that. This wasn’t some kind of prevision, no of course not. It couldn’t be. It was as easy as that. It could not be.

So something was wrong with him to think that he had some kind of… ‘knowledge’ of what was about to happen. Yes, yes he’d always had an uneasy feeling when something bad was about to happen but that was easily enough explained. It meant nothing and anyway, it wasn’t like that at all. It felt different. There was excitement somewhere inside him and…

Harry dismissed the possibility. No he was… He was sick or something, because none of the other stuff made any sense. Maybe he was finally going bonkers. Or maybe he already was.

There was this velvety soft kind of silence hanging in the room now, covering everything with it’s warm comfort. It was odd, yes, very odd indeed. Harry felt like he was being enveloped in this silence that felt so very intimate somehow, so very personal and he knew... just knew that this silence had been created between him and Malfoy. They both were enveloped in this intangible, elusive thing and Harry realized that he had never felt so close to the blonde boy, sitting only a few meters away from him. He had never felt so close to anybody really, felt connected, felt… and wasn’t that strange? How was this even happening? Was any of this real or was Harry the only one feeling this? Was it just a dream he was gonna wake up from any second now or had he truly gone nuts… For the blink of an eye Harry saw himself sitting in the dark and dusty cupboard under the stairs in his relatives house again, felt the possibility heavy on his chest that he might have simply imagined every day since then, every day since he had known about magic. He blinked furiously for a moment, coming back to where he sat in the old classroom on the threadbare mattress and hurriedly dismissed that scary thought. What ever _this_ was, it was not just happening in the mind of a lonely child with an overactive imagination. This _was_ happening. There was nothing more real then this.

Lose strands of thoughts were swirling around in Harry’s head, trying to entangle themselves with others so that they could make a connection and could together be part of something that was able to form a reality, a basic concept to make sense of things. Nothing did so far.

When Harry finally snapped out of his thoughts, he gathered a few things and left the room. He took a quick shower and put on some of the clothes he had bought after… He went back to the room he shared with Malfoy then, to find the blonde still sitting there on nothing but the travelling cloak that he had laid out on the floor again. He seemed to be sketching something on a piece of parchment in his lap as far as Harry could tell. Why was he still insisting on sleeping on the hard floor? They were wizards for fucks sake, even if he didn’t know where to get a mattress like Harry had, he could always transfigure _something_ into a bed if he wanted to. Then again, who was Harry to talk? He himself had been ‘living’ in this old classroom for weeks now and had done nothing to make it more ‘homey’. He didn’t care, that was the simple reason for behind that, but now that he shared the room with Malfoy, he thought that it was a bit - just slightly maybe - curious perhaps. Harry had slept in worse places of course and that made him quite blasé about most of the things other people would have serious problems with, such as spiders and their webs and dust and dirt and things such as that. But living in a gaveyard of old furniture and not even cleaning off the thick coat of dust from the floor he slept on... He could have done that with a flick of his wand and still, he had never even thought about it. What did he care, yes? But Malfoy… Malfoy seemed to care even less about that and for some reason that scared Harry. It was wrong for someone like Malfoy not to care about that, so wrong. Although they were probably both supposed to care, weren’t they? But really, as long as no one but Harry saw the condition of the place he slept in, he couldn’t care less about any of it. He showered regularly and wore clean clothes after all, so what the hell? It wasn’t that bad.

Now that he shared this room with the Slytherin though, Harry almost felt a little bit of shame somewhere very, very deep down, buried underneath a lot of old dust and spiders and their webs maybe. He should do something probably. And Malfoy should have said something, should have made a comment, but he never had. Maybe he knew that this was the way it had to be. Maybe he understood.

Malfoy hadn’t looked up when Harry had re entered the room. They seemed to have both decided to keep on ignoring each other as best as they could, but Harry could still very distinctly feel the others presence. He felt Malfoy to be sitting much closer to him then he actually was in fact and they weren’t just both in this room, separate as they sat either. No, they were _together_ in this room, that was how it felt.

Harry’s curious eyes strayed to and lingered on Malfoy and he wondered if the other boy was indeed drawing something like he thought he was or if he was writing something maybe, although it didn’t really look like he was. Harry felt a growing need to find out, to maybe take a look over Malfoy’s shoulder and the longer he sat there staring, the more urgent this need appeared to become. Harry was a bit scared by the intensity of this urge and he didn’t quite know where it had suddenly come from.

To distract himself from these unsettling thoughts Harry cast a ‘tempus’ charm. It was still early, but breakfast had already begun. Harry very much avoided joining the other volunteers for the meals, but he could always steal something from the tables. What he could not do however was to call Kreacher like he wanted to. As long as Malfoy was in the same room as him, Harry could not ask his house elf to bring him something to eat or anything really. It would raise questions that Harry did not care to answer. And it also would most certainly break the silence. The very curious silence that they had created and that Harry found he actually - if he was being honest with himself - he almost… kind of enjoyed.

But Harry had always liked his little peaceful breakfasts in the old classroom and he missed it now.

Harry gathered his things, most importantly his the invisibility cloak and got up, suppressing a sigh of frustration at the thought of having to go to the great hall for breakfast and a groan of pain as he forced his aching limbs to move towards it.

The day was about to start.


	7. Can't stop running

"Can you or me  
Save anyone from disappearing  
The shape of time  
The shade of light receding  
  
Where I sleep  
In your arms  
What I see  
Shut all paths  
Where they lead  
Where you are  
All I need  
Home"

["Where you are" by Portico (feat. Jono McCleery)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S9fj1iA6-tc)

* * *

Draco:

Draco still sat on his travelling cloak drawing something on a piece of parchment even he himself couldn't quite recognize, when Potter left the room again after he had come back from the bathroom.

There were two strange things on his parchment there, two curious shapes or forms or what ever, clearly somehow entangled in one another, entwining slowly but progressively. The shapes… curious. What ever it was he had drawn there, it had obviously been the first thing that had come to Draco's mind. He was used to just letting what ever happened in his head appear on the paper before him, beneath what ever tool he used to lure it out into the open. This approach to the art was why drawing to Draco was a very private matter, something nobody should see but he himself. It had always been far too dangerous to let anybody see what a pencil could reveal of his mind, so Potter looking through the ones he had used to cover up the really personal ones that were hidden beneath had been… terrifying, actually.

Not all of his drawings and paintings showed things that could easily be understood or named ever and were more like riddles in a way, something that had yet to be deciphered. Rarely Draco’s art showed a clear image of what he was thinking, but they showed the hidden things, hidden truths that not even Draco himself always knew about before they emerged from the depths and were dragged to the forefront of his mind. Which could be a scary thing sometimes, but had also turned out to be strangely soothing at times, cleansing sometimes and kind of a healing process in a way, to picture his best hidden truths like that.

Draco would never draw something that personal with Potter in the room of course, even if he was more or less the only person who knew about his drawings. So Draco had just let his pencil fly over the parchment and had tried to think about nothing much and simply let himself feel the comfort of the familiar activity.

 

Potter had left now though and Draco allowed himself a soft sigh in the privacy of the room.

There was something about this silence they had shared this morning, that connected them in some way. At least that was what it felt like. Draco didn't really understand what it was exactly that was going on here, but he could feel it. There indeed _was_ something going on between them, more then was apparent and Draco had to know what it was. How was he going to go about it though? There really wasn’t much he could do. His wand was quite useless and without it he had no means to check the magical levels of the room or if there had been spells placed on him (more then he was aware of) or Potter. A curse or a potion maybe or… Not that Potter would allow Draco to check him for spells and things like that, even though all of this obviously effected them both quite severely.

Well, at least he could be rather sure that it hadn’t been Potter who had cursed him. Or them both. Could have been an accident of course, but Draco didn’t think so. No, it hadn’t been Potter’s fault for once, or at least the dimwit hadn’t know about it. He was clearly as unprepared and surprised by this as Draco was. It was a well known ‘Potter-fact’ that the bloke was a shit actor. The Gryffindor couldn’t conceal any of his emotions even if his bloody life depended on it, always wearing his emotions on his sleeves like the moronic Gryffindor that he was... Not that Draco had been any better these past… hours, was it? So maybe he shouldn’t talk. Which he wasn’t. Not talking, just thinking and Potter’s track record with concealing emotions was still much, much worse then Draco’s own.

How had this happened though? How had Draco’s mental shields deteriorated that quickly until there wasn’t anything left of them to speak of and without him even realizing what was happening before it was too late no less. He had caught himself again now, yes, but if it had happened once… This was a very dangerous thing to happen now.

What ever the hell was going on here was still a mystery to Draco and it didn’t seem like there was much he could do to find out but to wait and observe everything around him very carefully. So that was what he would do. He would wait for things to develop and unfold, for people to show their true colours and schemes to reveal themselves. He would keep his eyes and ears open and wait. There was a storm coming, he knew that much at least. He could feel it in the air around him, could all but taste it in the silence… The silence, yes the silence was probably the most distinctive sign of them all. A storm was about to break and disrupt his life once more. What was it gonna bring this storm? More destruction and death perhaps? What was it gonna do to him? Kill him, take him away?

Draco wished in this moment that he had the gift of foresight. He had of course never shown any signs of having a gift like that, but he knew... he just _knew_ that something was about to happen, something monumental that would change everything. He was sure of it and there was not a single thing he could do about it, nowhere to run, no place to hide.

There was a tingling sensation spreading all over his body and his sore limbs were slightly trembling. Draco wondered if this was an after-effect from the restless night he’d had still or if this was his body’s reaction to the stress this whole situation was causing him.

First things first now, he needed to eat something. There was barely any strength left in him, he could feel that. He needed to get better, become stronger, do _something_! He couldn't just sit here, waiting for the storm to come.

Draco lay aside his drawing equipment, got up, gathered his things, put on the plain black robe (over his muggle attire Potter hadn’t even blinked at) he had brought for working in the ruins, before rushing down to the Great Hall faster then was strictly necessary. He all but burst through the large open doors of the Great Hall and again people were staring at him. He tried to slow down his pace then forcibly, tried to ignore the stares and whispers and searched the room for the one face he needed to see right now. But the unruly raven haired mop of hair, the obnoxious glasses that were so inevitably part of ‘the-boy-who-didn’t-die’ and those scarily knowing, deep green eyes of Harry Potter were nowhere to be seen. And Draco felt utterly lost without them.

He was rather painfully missing the one thing, the one person, that he had always felt like he could orientate himself on, the one thing that had never failed to help remind him of who he was supposed to be. He needed desperately someone to tell him who he was again. Needed it, yes, desperately.

Draco sat down on his usual spot in the furthest corner of the room from the door and stared over to the Gryffindor table, where Potter should have sat. People looked curiously at him now, like they just knew that there was something was wrong with him, like they could see right through him, through his defences, like he was bare again. Draco almost shook with fear for a second at that thought, but quickly caught himself again.

His stares might have been obvious for people who knew him… But no. And none of these people here knew just how right they were about him. Something was indeed very wrong with him. He was losing it, absolutely losing it, could almost feel himself break apart bit by bit, piece by little piece.

Yes, because nothing was how it was supposed to be and Draco could feel like the small intricate pieces he was composed now very slowly coming apart. Potter was the glue that was needed to fix this of course, as was _obvious_. Yes, exactly, very obvious indeed, to probably the entire world but the chosen, ‘most-oblivious-git-that-ever-existed’. And now the stupid boy-hero had the audacity to skip the bloody breakfast! What the fuck was wrong with the guy? Did he really not know that he had a job to do here? Did he not know of his responsibility to remind Draco of who he was supposed to be? Had Potter truly forgotten everything there was to know about how things worked between the two of them? He was supposed to come and save him like he did for everybody else, even those whom he hated, hated, hated, hated… And the ones who didn’t want to be saved too. Yes, Potter… He should have been there, Draco knew this. Why didn’t Potter?

There was no logic to his thoughts any more, Draco realized this. This was not at all normal. Not normal behaviour for him and by no means a normal thought process for Draco. He was going insane. An icy cold shiver ran down his spine and he felt fear rise inside of him. What was happening to him? Why was he having these admittedly very crazy thoughts? Why did he feel so out of control and so… It felt like he had every right to feel and think the way he did, like this was natural for him somehow, when clearly it was _not_ and he had completely, utterly lost touch with reality. This couldn't be allowed to go any further, he knew there had to be done something. He knew this, yes, but there was nothing he could do really. He clearly couldn’t help himself, that much was evident and who was he to ask for help then? Who was he supposed to go to? The nurse maybe (who would tell), the Headmistress (who would tell), the Ministry (that would lock him up for life)? Oh yes, that would go down so well. He’d end up in Azkaban before he could say ‘Not guilty!’ or be forever confined in the bloody Janus-Thickey-ward. And no, that wouldn’t be much better.

Draco put food on his plate with shaky hands, filled his cup with pumpkin juice even though he really didn’t care for it and tried to breath deeply to calm himself. He had to eat. It would help. He would go back to normal after that he had decided. He would survive this thing that was currently happening in his brain and become his normal self again.

He started to eat and ignored the wild thoughts running through his head as best as he could.

These thoughts were indeed slowing down a bit after he had finished his meal, but they still were there, they did not leave him. Refused to leave as much as Draco refused to acknowledge them any longer. He tried to accept that they were there for now, but he would not give them any more space then necessary, would not give them a platform to propagate and risk an infection of other parts of his mind… He would not let them take up any more space, no. They would have to learn to coexist, he and these strange (perhaps even foreign) thoughts. He had made his decision on it and it was final.

Draco was very good at not thinking about things. He had a great deal of practise at it, years worth of practice. They would not win, these thoughts, they would not overpower his mind. He could not let that happen. He would not allow it.

 

The day went by excruciatingly slow after that. Draco managed to go to work, but only after gulping down two of the calming potions he always carried around with him (which was much more then he usually had to take to prevent a full blown panic attack). He _tried_ to listen to Lydia's instructions, but they seemed to drown in the mist his troubled mind made him walk in. So they all drowned somehow, together with her constant ridicule and provocation. He knew she made fun of him again, he could hear it for afar, but his brain apparently refused to properly process the information it was given and none of it really sank in. Any other time he’d probably appreciated that, now it made him only feel more dizzy.

Draco’s eyes were unsteady, rushing from one thing to another, trying and failing to focus. It felt like they were searching out of their own volition for something to hold on to, for something that could connect Draco to reality again. But there was nothing. They didn't find anything that could do that. So his eyes and his thoughts kept on swimming in this dark, deep, fucking endless ocean, bloody bottomless sea that he was surrounded by now. His limbs felt numb in a very strange way, his hands grip was weak and they trembled, he knew. It was a miracle that he didn't hurt himself. As far as he noticed.

Time was so going by painfully slowly, oh and very fast at the same time. Draco had long lost track of it all.

He ate lunch perhaps and must have gotten back to work he guessed and he ate dinner too at some point it had seemed and then he drifted through the castle quite mindlessly. Time passed. It got dark and the castle went deadly silent.

Storm was coming, storm was coming.

Draco smoothed the wrinkles out of the map he must have very carelessly stuffed into his pocket at some point and tried to find his way back to the old classroom. It took a while. Draco tried to listen for the storm as he walked. He knew it was coming, but it was silent. So very silent, yes.

 

He felt like a sleepwalker as he finally entered the room, bone deep exhaustion. His eyes immediately fixed on the raven haired boy sitting on his mattress on the floor, like they hadn’t done all day, his eyes. No conscious decision he knew. There were lit candles all around the room that shone a beautiful light over the graveyard of discarded furniture Draco noticed absent mindedly, but all he truly could see was that boy sitting on his sleeping place there, back almost fully turned to the door.

“Look at me!”, Draco wanted to scream. “Look at me, Potter!”, his mind cried, but he couldn't say a word, just stood there staring at the boy that once again did nothing to acknowledge Draco's presence. It was like Potter had decided to dismiss Draco’s existence completely now.

Draco felt about to slide down the door he leaned against once again. Yes, wanted to sink down to the floor, to his knees, give up, show his defeat. He couldn't do it any more, couldn't hold it together any longer. He was lost, just… so, so lost. He felt his eyes burn and tears threatened to fall, he knew. He knew.

That was when Potter all of a sudden turned and looked up to him. Forest green, dark, dark, mesmerizing deep green eyes looked into his Draco’s grey ones and he could not help the sigh that escaped his lips at that.

There they were, finally. Those eyes. Oh, the thing that connected him to reality again, yes. Draco closed his eyes slowly then, wiping his hand across his face with barely a thought. Such a rush of relief, yes, call it that, yes. Very right, so natural. He opened his eyes again and had to watch as Potter’s green, green eyes turned away from him again. But that was okay. There had been sadness clearly showing in them for a second there, yes, Draco had seen it clearly. He had seen it there before too. And somehow that had been enough, this small... short moment, small connection, yes, to give Draco the strength to pull himself together a bit and drag himself over to his sleeping place where he sat down on his travelling cloak.

He felt a bit better now, his thoughts had calmed some and were a bit clearer again.

Potter was sitting on his mattress only a few feet away and Draco felt the boy's eyes ghost over his body now. He was being watched very closely and although Draco didn't really mind the silence between them, somehow welcomed it even, he _did_ mind those curious eyes that were clearly trying to figure him out. There really was nothing to figure out. At least nothing he wanted _Potter_ to figure out. Not before Draco himself had, because that would be most embarrassing, wouldn’t it be? If Potter figured everything about him out, Draco himself hadn’t been able to. Yes. No, that was not gonna happen. Draco would not allow it. He needed to keep his thoughts to himself. But Potter knew enough about him already, didn't he? He had seen Draco at his most vulnerable that last night. And how could Draco have forgotten that? Suddenly he felt like he was sitting there stark naked in front of Potters knowing eyes. Draco shuddered almost violently and his skin grew hot. He felt himself blush quite fiercely and a claustrophobic, ‘too-tight-too close-too-much-feeling’ started to grow in his chest, that told him that there was nowhere to hide from those piercing green eyes. He knew in that moment that he couldn't bare Potters green, green eyes on him any longer, he needed to leave. No. No, needed to _calm down._ Needed to leave, needed to calm down. Was not gonna run. He was not gonna run. He was gonna stay and get through these unreasonable thoughts and feelings and stay strong.

Draco really needed one or probably two, maybe three of those calming potions right this instant, but he couldn't get them out and drink them in front of Potter, now could he? He had to try and calm down on his own. He tried to come up with something to do, something that could help for a while before he decided to take out his last sketch again and attempted to continue working on it. Now that Potter knew about his drawings, there really was no reason to hide it any longer. At least not the sketches he chose to cover his 'real' drawings with.

He could feel Potters gaze let go of him after a while and felt an immediate relieved at that. But there also was a slight sadness came with it and lingered after that, that Draco couldn't quite understand or explain.

Draco’s head ached and his eyes burned, his lids felt so heavy. He was dead tired. It had been a long day. And an eventful night before that. And the days and nights before that... The important thing was that Draco was so tired that he felt like he might fall asleep any minute now, sitting there with his pencil and the drawing in hand.

But he couldn't do that! No, he could not just fall asleep here in this room alone with Potter. It had been scary before and it had ended badly... Not in a _complete_ disaster maybe, as Potters odd behaviour this day had shown... But Draco couldn't let it happen again. This could not become a reoccurring event, no! He could _not_ sleep here and let Potter see him having nightmares again. And they would come, yes, Dreamless Potion or not, they always came, Draco knew, he _knew_! They waited for him to close his eyes, shadows lingering in the corners of his eyes, yes. He knew, he knew they would come.

He could put a silencing spell around himself. But Potter was still up and Draco couldn't stay awake much longer. And Potter would notice Draco thrashing restlessly on the ground, whimpering… _crying, screaming, begging for mercy, for help_.

Draco was not fool enough to believe otherwise, Potter would notice. He would realize what was happening and he would see and he would… He would… No. Draco would not allow Potter to see that part of him ever again.

“Go to sleep, Potter! Please! Go to sleep.”, he wanted to beg the him, but Draco couldn't speak the words.

But there was no way in hell he would let Potter see him cry again. No, he had to get out of this room, before he would fall unconscious as sleep claimed him.

Draco got up, let the sketch he had mindlessly worked on and the pencil in his hand, carelessly fall to the floor and fled the room, not even shutting the door behind himself.

Coward. Coward, yes. Run, run, run, coward. Yes, run.

Tears fell, silent and unnoticed.

 

Harry:

Harry had put his invisibility cloak on as he’d left the old classroom, leaving Malfoy behind. His needlessly hurried steps took him down to the Great Hall, where he stole some food from the tables and left the room as quickly as he’d come. He found himself a quiet place to sit and eat his small breakfast in some abandoned and still badly damaged classroom. Harry paid no mind to enormous hole in the floor, nor those in the walls or the rather dangerous looking cracks that went up to the ceiling and spiderwebbed around some point there where something must have hit it. And just ate the food in peace. He needed to keep up his strength after all, now that he shared a room with Malfoy. He had to stay on high alert all the time, he told himself. Even though Malfoy didn't seem to be much of a threat at the moment. But still... It could all be a trap, Malfoy’s strange behaviour, Harry tried to convince himself. Yeah.

But no, Malfoy would _never_ let Harry see him cry, not even for some elaborate scheme he would feign something like that, something that would make him look so ‘weak’. No, Malfoy would most certainly _not_ ‘disrespect’ himself like that (as Malfoy would see it), even for a trap. He was far too proud for that. Or used to be at least. Harry had seen Malfoy cry before, he suddenly remembered and that… that particular night… It had been a while ago and it had ended… quite differently this time, seeing Malfoy cry. Harry tried to suppress the impressions of that night, that his mind tried to drag before his inner eye. The blood on his hands. _He wasn't gonna think of it._ Blood that he could never wash off. Blood that he, Harry, had spilled and that had seeped into his skin, through his pores. Had gotten in so deep… Could never wash off, could never forget. All over floor, the blood, mixing with the dirty water... Blood, pouring from the blondes too thin body, shirt torn, deep, gaping wounds on the boy’s pale flesh. _Not thinking about it._ _Forget it! Don't think about it!_ And Harry had just stood there and watched him die. Blood everywhere. _Stop thinking about_ _it_ _!_

Bad thoughts all but banished.

No, Malfoy crying in front of him for the sake of some evil plan, the chances of that happening any time soon lay by zero. This was real and true and Harry thought that it was so very sad actually and just the thought of what had happened last night was leaving a heavy weight on Harry's soul. Malfoy turning out to be just as broken as Harry felt... Harry wished he would have been wrong about that, just this once, but if he was being honest with himself… He had felt it even before he had known it for sure. It was the truth, Malfoy was one of those broken people that were more like corpses walking around, animated by only god know what really, living amongst the unbroken, unseen until their end. They were trying to look and act and be like the unbroken, but they never truly were, never could be. Some kinds of hurt just went too deep to ever truly heal again.

Harry stared through the hole in the floor, deep in thoughts.

Time passed and the light changed as it fell through broken windows and holes in the walls. He had to start his work day soon. There was a feeling of deep sadness in him now that was almost overwhelming in that moment and yet another feeling was there, slowly crept up on him. Harry felt like something was missing. There was a strange emptiness in him that he hadn’t noticed before. Something was missing and Harry just couldn't figure out what it was. He became restless after a while sitting there, pondering, so he started to pace in the badly damaged room, ignoring the overwhelming possibility of accidentally falling through the hole in the ground.

Harry opened the door and left to get to his first assignment as 8 o'clock neared, but his mind still stayed occupied with dark thoughts the whole day. He had quite the harsh headache actually and the restlessness inside of him only grew with time. He knew that there was something that he was missing. He just _knew_ it and there was no debating whether or not it was real, this feeling. He had experience with these kinds of things after all, things that nobody but him believed were real and true and it had turned out to be best to listen to his gut with things like that and sod other peoples believes and their wishful thinking too. Yes, this was just as real as the dead basilisk down in the Chamber of Secrets that nobody had wanted to believe existed. It was real this feeling and there was no use in arguing about it. Thank goodness Hermione wasn’t here nagging and demanding prove.

And he had to do something about it. What was he supposed to do though? He didn't know what it was that was missing, so how could he bloody fix this? Maybe Hermione being here wouldn’t have been such a bad idea after all.

Harry grew more and more anxious as the hours passed. He tried very hard to concentrate on his work, the tasks he’d been given, but it got harder and harder as time went by. Something was happening or soon to be happening, he just knew it. Or something was seriously wrong with Harry, he thought to himself as he finished work for the day and went down to the kitchens to get himself some food. He did visit the house elves on occasion and thought it might be a good idea for him to have some company while eating today, for a change. But no, he actually really wasn't in the mood for talking today. And he wasn't hungry either, he realized unsurprised. No, he was just gonna go up to the old classroom and get some rest or something.

He really should write to Hermione and Ron some time soon. Or maybe ask Andromeda about Teddy’s well being. Write to Ginny. Or even George perhaps. Molly surely was worried about him, but then again… No. Harry never did that anyway. There was no need to pretend to himself of all people, that he would write to any of them any day soon.

'Mione and Ron had sent him several letters already and he had answered none. He’d told them a few days after the battle, after… after Fred’s funeral, that he needed some time. Some time to himself. They had looked at him full of worry of course, like they always did, but they’d seemed to understand. And still, they’d written him and he… He’d stayed quiet. He just really had no idea what he was supposed to tell them. He had no clue what to answer to their questions after his well being or what to say in response to yet another invitation to stay with them at the rebuild Burrow for some more time then he already had stayed there. Or how to explain why he hadn’t been to any of the other dozens, actually, hundreds of funerals that were being held fall the fallen ones.

Harry had once thought Dumbledore’s funeral had been hard to get through, but Fred’s funeral… _that_ had really, really fucking hurt. And after that Harry had just completely lost it.

Yes, he had stayed at the Burrow before that and for a few more days after that even, but he just… He hadn’t been able to take it any longer. So he’d fucked off to Grimmauld Place after accepting Bill’s selfless offer to help him reset the Fidelius-Charm on the property. He had been ashamed to do it, but he’d let Bill help him with it and then he’d locked himself in, not really having said goodbye to anybody or explained himself in any meaningful, in any acceptable way really. He’d barely spoken a word to anybody at that point and it had felt right. How could he talked when there were so many people who’d been silenced forever?

But the house had been as suffocating to him as it had always been and so Harry had fled once again. To Hogwarts that time, the place he’d once called his home and that now lay in ruins because of him. It had torn at his heart. And so after creeping around there under his invisibility cloak for some hours, Harry had gone to McGonagall and asked her if he could help.

Well, here he was now.

Harry suspected that Ron and Hermione were ‘secretly’ in contact with McGonagall, because else they would have probably already arranged for the world to be torn apart in the search of ‘missing-Harry-Potter’ with them both at the forefront of the effort, demanding ‘...some really good answers, Harry James Potter!’. Harry was very glad that the Headmistress had told them where he had run off to, because like that he didn’t have to do it. He was a coward of course and he knew they all knew it, but well, not much pride to lose any more, was there?

McGonagall had started to handle the things for him that Harry himself had felt unable to deal with. And it wasn’t just Ron and Mione’s worries about ‘where the fuck he’d so suddenly pissed off to without telling anybody’. It was the reporters that constantly stalked him too and the… the ‘fan-mail’ Harry was so horrified with that he couldn't even look at it.

He’d even had trouble escaping the press while staying at the Burrow with the Weasley's, but back at Hogwarts now, where he could comfortably hide under his invisibility cloak for most of the time, he managed to get away from the stares and whispers and question for the most part. He knew that still some of the volunteers were under cover reporters, even though press on the school grounds was was strictly regulated, although not entirely prohibited. McGonagall liked to keep a close eye on them. The school profited from news coverage, yes, so that was why she’d probably decided to give the vultures at least some access. But although it was rather well known (as far as he knew) these days that Harry Potter was staying at Hogwarts, he didn’t need or want the press so he stayed away from the them and the volunteers as best as he could.

Mrs. Weasley had written him a letter or two as well. Harry couldn't take her motherly love and her understanding and forgiving nature right now and hadn’t answered.

Then there was Ginny. His girlfriend. She had written him one letter, telling him that she understood and accepted his need for some time alone ‘after all he’d been through’, although she had said that she’d wished for him to take her with him. Harry hadn’t written back.

He had so very much longed to talk to her while he’d been on the run with Ron and Hermione, but now that he could finally talk to her again, be close with her again... He’d quickly found out that he just couldn't bare that closeness any more. There had been some… 'nights of passion' as people call it, very shortly after the final battle. Although in Harry’s opinion what they had shared went more along the lines of ‘nights of devastatingly desperate need for comfort’. They had had that and it had been important he figured and good in a very abstract kind of way, precious for sure, but it had all been so overshadowed by that immense grieve and that pain and the darkness that had still loomed over their heads, that Harry now didn’t really liked to think back to that any more.

And they hadn’t been able to truly talk to each other at that point, Ginny and him. They had been close physically, yes, for a few brief moments they had shared that, but emotionally Harry had felt more alone in her company then he’d felt when he had been all by himself. That was when he had decided that he had to leave the 'Burrow'. Ginny had understood, like she always did, when he’d told her in passing more or less, that he was going to leave for Grimmauld place. _Without her_ , had been unspoken but clear.

She had let him go. Because that was what that had been. They hadn’t said it, but they had both known what it had meant. It hurt to think about it still, that he had let their chance for love slip, but even though that was true and he had felt immensely guilty for all of it, especially for how he’d handled the situation, he had also felt utterly relieved. There were no obligations he had to anybody any more. There was nothing left that forcefully bound him to life now. There now was just Harry. Harry and the darkness that followed him and the emptiness and sadness inside of him. There also was that gigantic amount of regret and shame inside of him of course so the rest of him didn’t feel too alone in there, but other then that… Harry was truly alone and unbound for the first time in a long time. He was no longer responsible for anybody else's life. And wasn’t that a fucking relief. Freedom for once to to with his life as he pleased, without having to think of the fate of the entire fucking, trice cursed, shitty world.

George had expectedly stayed as quiet as Harry had and secretly Harry was glad that he hadn’t received any mail from him.

And Teddy… Poor Teddy Lupin. Harry would make sure he’d never have to get to know him. It wasn’t luck that followed Harry around after all. It was better like this.

 

Harry had made his way up to the old dusty classroom, without really thinking about it and was surprised when he came to stand in front of it's closed door. He entered the room silently and closed the door behind him. The room was empty. He was alone and couldn't help but feel a bit of sadness at that realization. And wasn’t that a strange thing? He suddenly yearned for human contact, for interaction of some kind, while he at the same time still feared it greatly. He was afraid of the reality of talking to someone, because all people brought their own stories with them of course and Harry would have to deal with that too then. What he longed for was someone to just _be_ with, to just exist in their company, close enough but not too close. There was no such person in this word of course, he knew that. Nobody was able to _not_ bring themselves into the situation. And Harry couldn't deal with what people carried with them any more. He couldn’t deal with more sad stories, more death and pain and desperation. He just couldn’t.

Harry sat down on his sleeping place and stared at the fading light falling though the dirty window panes, his back all but completely turned to the door. He flicked his wand once to light the candles in the room, but other then that he barely even moved at all, even when the door opened. He heard it, but he didn't turn to seen who was entering the room. He knew it was Malfoy there at the door. Harry for a moment then felt like he couldn't move to face him, not while the loneliness was still washing over him so cruelly.

And then he felt the loneliness fade slowly. Just a little bit, but it was diminishing enough so that the overwhelming feeling of being utterly alone in this world became almost bearable again.

Harry very distinctly felt Malfoy’s eyes boring into the back of his skull all the while, uttering a silently demand for attention, for a reaction, for Harry to turn around and look at him. And there was an urge rising inside of Harry to indeed face the blonde and find out if his eyes still were grey or if they had changed their colour again. Harry tried to fight it for a short moment, but he just… He couldn't take it any longer, so he turned around looked at the Slytherin boy, standing there leaning against the closed the door once again.

Malfoy's eyes were of a mesmerizing mercury silver and they were filled with unshed tears, staring into Harry's own eyes now twining their gazes once more. It was a surprise to him that the other boy let Harry see him like this. A soft sigh escaped Malfoy’s lips and Harry felt himself relax.

Things made sense now. And Harry knew in that moment that he had finally found what he had missed and thought lost all day long. If that didn't make sense, Harry didn't notice. That thoughts were barely conscious as it was, elusive in its nature it slipped right from his mind as soon as it had occurred to him.

The blonde boy at the door closed his tired looking eyes and wiped his hand across his face once. And Harry felt like it would be wrong for him to stare at the other boy any longer then he already had, so he turned his gaze. It took all his strength to do so, but he managed. He had done some impossible tasks before.

The ‘Slytherin prince’, as people had once liked to call Malfoy, sat down on his travelling cloak, that lay there spread on the dusty floor. He looked a lot calmer when Harry sneaked a glance at him. The candle light illuminated his blond hair quite beautifully and his skin almost looked like it was made out of ivory in this light and yet still managed to look like it would be soft to the touch. Harry struggled to let go of this image, even though he realized how deadly pale that actually was and how tightly Malfoy’s skin stretched over his bones. It would not have been too unreasonable to compare Malfoy’s face with a death mask actually, but no. He was a broken one, but he… He was… Something was different about him.

Harry looked at the too thin boy like he was seeing him for the very first time.

What was it that had changed Harry’s nemesis into the person he now saw before him, he wondered. Malfoy was so very, very different to the person that Harry had thought he had know, both in appearance and well, everything else as well. Different, very different. And Harry needed to know why that was. Who was Draco Malfoy, if he no longer was the cruel bully, the proud and arrogant prince that owned every room he entered?

Harry could see the blonde shudder under his gaze and immediately felt a bit bad for having stared so intensely, but was that a _blush_ on his cheeks? He watched as Malfoy took out some parchment, a small wooden board not much larger then those pieces of parchment and some pencils from his backpack and started to draw. And once again Harry wished he could take a look at what ever it was that Malfoy was working on. He could ask, but… No, he couldn't just  ask the guy to let him have a look. They were still Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy after all, sworn enemies from the very start and from then on ‘till forever. Harry almost snorted as he caught himself at that thought.

They had been nothing but children when their feud had begun and this whole thing had started to look rather absurd now. There were loads of reasons for them to still not to get along with each other, to hate each other even and they of course weren’t anything close to friends, but well…

No.

Yeah, Harry had helped the other boy, but that was nothing. Nothing, really. They didn't even talk to each other for fucks sake. And Harry would have done this for anybody, to wake them from a nightmare that bad and, and...

So no, he could not do it. Even though his curiosity almost killed Harry in that moment, he was gonna let go of it all and turn his eyes and his back and... He was going to ignore the urge to ask, to know, to understand, to... Harry looked away.

Jumbled thoughts were dancing and drifting through Harry’s mind, most of which he did not quite comprehend. His gaze was fixed on the flickering flame of one of the candles on an old desk or a small shelf somewhere in the room and he almost didn't notice how Malfoy rose to his feet. Only the drawing equipment suddenly and very loudly clattering to the floor snapped Harry out of his thoughts, before Malfoy all but fled the room. Harry looked after the blonde in puzzlement. He had not a single idea what could have caused this strange reaction and this hurried escape.

Harry remembered the drawing then that Malfoy had just worked on and quickly rose to his feet, tiptoed to the other boys sleeping place and sat on the cloak on the floor, picking up the parchment almost breathless with excitement.

On the parchment was a sketch of two rather strange looking, but somehow familiar feeling shapes that were connected by some strands of… of _something_ to one another, entwining them with each other. It was a beautiful picture really, but also a bit mysterious, not quite… Hard to understand. Clearly Harry could see that those two shapes were supposed to be human beings, at least he thought they were, but other then that he couldn't really tell if they were male or female or anything other relevant. It was a picture made of light and darkness, capturing the process of two beings becoming one. And that was what Malfoy had worked on. Harry couldn't quite believe that this truly was something that Malfoy of all people would draw, that he could produce this… this beautiful utopian vision. Harry was rather unable to associate something as beautiful, as emotional and mysterious as this picture with the blonde boy he had thought he knew.

It made Harry quite unwillingly think about what else he might not have noticed about the other boy. And wasn’t that a truly frightening thought. Harry got up slowly, carefully placing the parchment on the cloak and went back to his own sleeping place, trying to shake the thoughts from his head.

Now that Malfoy had left the room it was awfully quiet. Even the silence between the two of them had been louder then this emptiness. This absence of anything. It was a bit terrifying really.

With a flick of Harry's wand all the candles went out. All but one candle on the last window sill on the right side, which he had chosen to be left lit. Its flame was lazily flickering and Harry caught himself staring into the depths of it again. He was tired, so very tired now and he was alone in here. What should keep him from taking a little nap?

He lay down on the small mattress beneath him and pulled a patched blanked over his fully clothed body.

A silencing spell. He would put a silencing charm around himself just in case Malfoy returned. What was he thinking, he _always_ put a silencing charm around himself when he tried to sleep, because there hadn't been a night without nightmares since... since probably forever. Harry did the spell and closed his eyes.

He tried to relax his body and silenced the thoughts inside his mind as best as he could, which had always been the hardest part for him. Most nights it took hours for him to fall asleep, but tonight... Harry was so sleep deprived and dead tired already, that it was almost too easy. His thoughts became shallow shadows of the things they would have once depicted and he drifted though them now as if they weren't dark memories that frightened him both day and night. He felt almost weightless for a second there.

And then the darkness took hold of him and dragged him down that deep abyss and into his world of pain.


	8. Run boy, run!

"Run boy run! This world is not made for you  
Run boy run! They’re trying to catch you  
Run boy run! Running is a victory  
Run boy run! Beauty lays behind the hills

Run boy run! The sun will be guiding you  
Run boy run! They’re dying to stop you  
Run boy run! This race is a prophecy  
Run boy run! Break out from society

Tomorrow is another day  
And you won’t have to hide away  
You’ll be a man, boy!  
But for now it’s time to run, it’s time to run!

Run boy run! This ride is a journey to  
Run boy run! The secret inside of you  
Run boy run! This race is a prophecy  
Run boy run! And disappear in the trees

Tomorrow is another day  
And you won’t have to hide away  
You’ll be a man, boy!  
But for now it’s time to run, it’s time to run!

Tomorrow is another day  
And when the night fades away  
You’ll be a man, boy!  
But for now it’s time to run, it’s time to run!"

["Run boy run" by Woodkid"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lmc21V-zBq0)

* * *

Draco:

Draco's hurried foot steps echoed through the empty corridors of the castle as he fled from the room he shared with Harry Potter. It was much darker, a good bit colder and even draughtier in this barely known and used part of the building, then in the rest of the castle. The warm summer air never seemed to truly reach the narrow, winding corridors and unused rooms and halls up here. And the only light now came from the tip of Draco’s wand as he mindlessly ran through the crooked hallways of the oldest part of the castle, his only thought being that he had to get away. He couldn't stop, he needed to keep on running, just running, running away from the walls closing in on him.

His lungs hurt from exertion and every breath that he took felt more shallow, bringing less and less oxygen into his bloodstream, until he was so utterly breathless that he became light headed and dizzy. Draco staggered and came to a halt then, having to lean heavily against the stone wall for support. He tried to catch his breath and diminish the pain he felt in his lungs and sides, head, legs and feet. He still felt dizzy after a moment and even more weakened then he had before.

Potter was a nosy bastard, naturally. And Draco had been unable to tell him to back off and keep his stupid eyes to himself, because Potter would of course have immediately chosen to do the exact opposite of what he was asked to do. This was another very well known ‘Potter-fact’. The Gryffindor never did what he was supposed to do. Like minding his own god damn business.

So Potter would have done everything in his power to find out exactly what was going on with Draco, would have started to stalk the shit out of Draco until he knew exactly what he was ‘hiding’. And yes, there was a precedent to this.

It wasn’t that easy this time though, because Draco himself didn't even know the answer to the questions Potter would have asked. And he couldn't handle Potters curious eyes on him right now. Draco just wanted to hide from his strange, mixed up feelings, the problem of his misplaced masks and the vulnerability in him that was more evident then ever before. And there he was now, with the only thing he could do being to hope and wait for things to calm down. How utterly pathetic.

Draco was freezing. Why hadn’t he taken his cloak with him or something? Yeah, right. But it was summer, for fucks sake. It shouldn't be that cold in here, not even at night. And... Draco should have eaten more. He wouldn't have been this cold if he’d eaten enough for his body to properly regulate its temperature. So it was really his own fault.

Draco was angry with himself. Why had he to always be the weak one? Why… But no, he was _not_ going be this person any longer, he decided then, fury leaving him as soon as it had come. He was not going to do this to himself any longer.

He would stay away from Potter and his too green eyes, find some other place to sleep tomorrow and ignore the fucking ‘Saviour’ until the boy forgot that Draco had ever existed. He was going to... start new. After completing his sentence. Yes. He would leave bloody Britain and settle down in another country somewhere, France maybe. Or Greece perhaps. He would assume a false name and would refuse from then on to let the past cast a shadow over his future. He was going to move on, forget all of the gruesome things that he had seen and all the things he had done and all the things that had been done to him. He would not let _anybody_ tell him who he was any longer and live a free life instead. Being just _himself_ for once. Yes.

Draco let out a shaky sigh, got up from his place on the cold wall with weak legs and slowly started to walk down the empty hallway. Everybody deserved to have utopian fantasies that they knew would never come true, didn’t they? Even people like Draco. It didn’t matter after all. It didn’t matter. And it couldn’t hurt to imagine… a better life.

Yes, he would have to finish his sentence first, but a few months… that wasn’t too bad. He could do that. And after that… After that nothing could hold him back any longer. He would have paid his dues in the eye of the government. And Draco would cut off every and any remaining ties that still bound him to this life here after that. The only life he’d ever known… He would start a new life some place else, become a potions mater maybe or a healer. Or an underpaid artist if it came to that, but he’d be happy and content. A simple life he’d make for himself. And who knew, maybe one day he’d even find himself a beautiful wife. Or a kind man maybe to share his life and truly settle down with. Have kids perhaps and things like that. Find them a house with a garden to live in. Yes, that would be nice. He would lead a quiet life, untouched by his dark past. _Free_.

Draco found himself a cosy little place in an alcove with a window where he sat down, looking over the silent, peaceful appearing school grounds that lay there in the dark beneath him, barely visible in the dull light of the moon. He wiped his face with his sleeve absent mindedly and wished for his drawing equipment to be here with him right now so that he could capture the landscapes beauty with a pencil or a brush. Draco sighed again. He never had focused much on landscapes or still lifes before, but right now he really felt like it. Draco rested his heated feeling cheek against the cool stone.

Potter had called him out about drawing only himself, but he knew nothing of course. And still it had hurt. How was it that Potter always knew how to get under Draco’s skin like he did? Even when he was totally missing the point and did not at all seem to see what that had all been about. Not that Draco would tell him of course. Or even think about what those pictures of himself meant with those eyes and… Or what the self portraits covered up for that matter, which would be even worse to think about, to be honest. He would just try and be very glad that the raven haired boy did not understand his drawings or his art at all. Oh god, just thinking about what would have happened if the other boy had figured it out, or worse: Had gotten even a small glimpse at the pictures lying beneath the cover ups... That thought made Draco shudder in horror. But then there also was that small, but very persistent part of him that got awfully excited at the though of being caught, of Potter discovering what Draco had hidden for so long, figuring him out. What would he think about Draco if he knew? Would he be surprised? Would he be disgusted? Would he be…

Maybe Potter would know. Maybe he would understand.

Draco shook his head as if to clear it from these traitorous, _dangerous_ thoughts that he had believed to have banished far enough for them not to cross his mind any more. But here he was, thinking about those things again.

No, Potter would be appalled by Draco’s drawings and what they said about him of course. The ‘Saviour’ reacting in an almost understanding, a kind way last night must truly have gone to Draco’s head if he suddenly allowed himself to have any hope for a positive reaction from the Gryffindor.

Potter hated him, it had always been like that. They hated each other and would use anything they could get on the other, find out any weakness they could and then use them to their advantage in that feud of theirs. Although… maybe not any more, maybe... Potter had seen Draco last night at his weakest and he… He hadn't used it against him yet, had he? Maybe he would do it later though, wait until students returned to the castle for the full effect… If Potter was to stay to get that last year of education he had missed out on that was. Not that last year had been so educational in the common meaning of the word in connection to schooling and things…

There were rumours lately that the students who had attended Hogwarts last term would get the chance to repeat that last year. But why would Potter care about his school education though? Everybody knew that the Auror Office was _desperate_ to recruit ‘the Saviour’, even without him having completed his education at Hogwarts, without having gotten any N.E.W.T.s. Well, maybe not everybody per se knew that, but Draco knew of course. There had been rumours about that even during wartime and now… Well, of course they wanted to have the accomplished war hero Harry Potter, ‘golden boy’, ‘defeater of Dark Lords’ and what not in their ranks. It was an easy conclusion to come to considering the history and Draco really had no understanding or sympathy for people who did _not_ know these things. But well, Draco had always been exceptionally attentive, had always heard and seen things other people did not notice. Draco knew how to listen for the important things around him. He’d always known. Things about Potter. His nemesis. Draco groaned loudly and then proceeded to forcefully slam his head against the window frame.

 _Shut up, thoughts, shut up!_ , he scolded himself.

Draco wouldn’t get to go back to school anyway and who cared if stupid Potter did. Let him talk! Let them all talk if they had nothing better to do. Draco would be in France or Greece anyway, or fucking Portugal or Spain or somewhere. Who cared! Who fucking cared. Didn’t matter. Let them all talk.

Draco took a few deep breath and then started his old meditation routine to try and empty his mind from excess thoughts, proceeded to attempt to banish the most dangerous ones back to where they had come from, the depths of his mind, and then tried to very meticulously lock and seal them away there in the darkest corner. Draco had excelled at Occlumency once, _had to_ really, with Severus as an early years tutor and later with dear aunt Bella ‘making sure he was still up to par’. He shuddered. But now even these fairly easy exercises were hard for Draco to accomplish. Disgrace. _Such a disgrace._

Just as Draco had managed to finally quieten his thoughts, a sudden sharp scream tore through the silent night. Draco’s head snapped up from where it had rested against the window frame and he instinctively turned towards the horrible sound. And there it was again barely a second later, a scream so full of terror that it had Draco shaking with fear in an instant. It was a hoarse and broken cry, not high not low, toneless almost, primal and raw. It was the last protest of a tortured body and mind and soul, before death would come to silence that voice forever. A death scream.

Draco had heard many of those echoing through the manor while the Dark Lord had made it his main residence and still, he had never heard anything that could compared to this horrifying sound. Something about it was so much worse then anything else he’d ever heard and it felt like it pierced Draco’s very soul and heart.

The noise grew louder and louder, but Draco felt like he was frozen in place, unable to move as pictures started to flood his mind. Torn off limbs, deep, bloody, gaping wounds, gutted people, completely turned inside out… blood boiling inside living bodies... skinned alive people; innocents. But much worse then all of that; It was like Draco was now witnessing as someone's soul was slowly being torn apart, bit by bit, piece by little piece. This was the most horrifying thing that Draco had ever experienced, the way this omniferous pain was ringing in his ears as a cry of pure agony, resonating so deeply within him that Draco felt the same thing was happing to himself. As if it was he who was screaming. He felt himself shattering under the onslaught of pain that hit him as the scream echoed through his body and penetrated even the deepest corners of his mind and soul as it tore through him, shaking him to the core.

He was in on the verge of screaming himself now, he knew this, felt he could barely hold the sound in any longer. If this didn't stop right now… If it didn’t stop… If…

Draco had never been so terrified, never been this close to simply passing out without even… without... His nightmares and flashbacks they were _nothing_ compared to these screams that just wouldn't _stop_. And they _needed_ to stop, they had to!

Everything hurt, his head was about to explode, his eyes burned and his ears were ringing as something warm tickled out of them, running down his throat and collar. Draco covered his heated ears with hands that felt like they were burning. A high, shocked cry escaped his lips as he realized that those screams he was hearing did not enter his head through his ears and covering them did not help. It was like those screams erupted from within his own mind and there was no way to shut them out. Draco felt parallelized with fear and his limbs were numb, but he knew with sudden clarity that he had to move if he wanted to live. He had to do something. He knew, it needed to stop or he would die.

Draco tried to dispel the feeling of parallelization from his body, forced his body into a standing position and then started to run. And he ran like he’d never run before in his life, his speed increasing with every second, towards the sound he couldn’t shut out. Always towards it, run, run, run. His vision was blurring more and more as he ran and time stood still. Heart beating out of his chest, breath as loud as a storm in his hurting ears. The only thing in his mind were those torturous screams now and he found himself standing at the brink of insanity. He followed the noise purely on instinct, finding his way through the maze of corridors without difficulties for once.

The cries became louder and louder, filling him up with pain, but Draco kept on running towards them. He needed to find the source, needed to silence this thing, this sound that hurt him so much. He felt more warm liquid drip from his ears, but didn't stop to find out that it was blood. He already knew. These cries didn't just hurt his body though. The part where he could feel them squishing the organs inside of him to mush, expunging his heart, that wasn’t the worst part of it by far. What they did to his mind and soul felt far worse then anything else. He knew he wouldn't be able to survive, if those cries and screams didn't stop and even then...

Draco was almost out of his mind from pain as he came to a door, almost ripped it out of it's hinges as he forced it open and stormed into the room, where he froze in place just as the door slammed shut behind him.

Draco immediately recognized the person thrashing and writhing on the ground before him, tangled in blankets, screaming, screaming, screaming. It was Potter. And for all the gruesome things that Draco had witnessed in his life, he had never seen something as traumatic as this. So much pain, so, so much pain. Blood was dripping from the corners of Potter’s mouth and from his ears down to his collar even as he screamed his lungs out as if they were filled with fire. His voice had become so hoarse now that it was barely carrying any sound any more, but somehow that made the sounds he did make even more horrifying. And Draco could hear them all the same, the screams that were still echoing through his head. Sickening choking noises were mixing with panicked gasps for breath and when the voice pushed through once more, it was a high and piercing noise that barely sounded human, only for it to break off again and turn into those blood chilling choking sounds that accompanied the breath more or less inaudibly being forced out of that throat with full force.

There was only very little light in the room, falling through the windows and Draco was thankful for that. The thought of having to see more of what Potter’s face must be showing was terrifying. Nausea hit him with full force then and darkness was starting to close in on Draco. Flashing white spots obscured his visions for a few second before leaving him in almost absolute darkness and he was so dizzy that he couldn’t tell up from down. Draco realized that he was about to either pass out or lose his mind. Or both.

There was no strength left in him it seemed like, but the need to stop these screams hadn’t lessened. And before he knew what he was doing, Draco had grabbed Potter's shoulders and started to shake them violently, screaming:

"Stop it! Stop it! Potter, shut up! You need to shut up! Pleeeaaase! Please, shut up, Potter, please! I can't take it! I can’t… You're killing me! Please, Potter! You’re killing us! You’ve got to shut up! Please!" His voice had gone from forceful to a pitiful whining begging noise. Begging for mercy.

Draco could feel hot tears streaming down his cheeks, face contorting in pain and from the strain every single movement cost him, but Potter didn't stop. He screamed and screamed and screamed and screamed, his body shaking and convulsing uncontrollably under the firm grip Draco still had on his shoulders. Draco tried to cover the other boy’s mouth with his hands, but it didn't help muffle the screams, so Draco let go again. He wanted to slap Potter and wake him up or hit him, choke him kill him, make it stop. Mercy. But he couldn't hurt this pained boy, everything in Draco instinctively struggled against that thought. So he shook Potter’s shoulders again, screaming and begging for him to stop this madness, but nothing, _nothing_ helped.

Slumping down, Draco took Potter’s head between his two hands, crying and pleading with the poor boy who continued to flail around with arms and legs, because there was nothing else he could do. Whimpering more then anything Draco was, his last bit of strength almost entirely exhausted now.

And that was when the other boy’s eyes suddenly snapped open, wide with fear and shock they stared into Draco's eyes. Brilliant green eyes looking at him, overflowing with tears that continued to stream down that too pale face, a mask of agony. Draco’s hands had fallen from Potter’s face as the boy’s body had shot up from the mattress he’d lain on, only to become very rigid for a short a few seconds, before his eyes rolled back in his skull and his body went completely limp, boneless almost. The scream he’d been about to choke out had died in his throat. Potter was about to collapse back onto the floor, but Draco instinctively caught him around his shoulders and held him upright.

Potters eyes had closed, but now blinked open again slowly and tiredly. And then the raven haired boy threw his head back, uttering one last cry of utter despair and pain, before slumping against Draco's torso in front of him, surrender and exhaustion in his every motion. And then he started crying. But Draco was far too drained and far too relieved to be properly shocked in that moment and before he even knew it, his own arms were already tightening around the boy with the emerald eyes, almost out of their own volition, while Potter’s body started to shake with violent sobs and ragged, hiccuping breaths.

This was no longer Potter before him, Draco decided then. This was simply a very deeply hurting human being, someone who was in so much pain that he would surely die without someone to catch him. And that he couldn't do. Draco could not let him die.

Draco pulled the boy closer to himself, cradling him in his arms and started to gently rock them both back and forth. And the boy with the raven hair and the sad eyes was nothing but a sobbing child in Draco's arms then, far too thin and far too light for his height and age. He had looked a bit underfed before, Draco had noticed that, but now that had Draco had his arms around his body, the blonde realized that it was even worse then he had thought. The ribs he could count without even trying and the arms end legs felt so gaunt that it was hard to believe that they actually were real. He was clearly was wearing a glamour, the boy, but to think that nobody had noticed... With one hand Dracotouched the wand in his pocket, concentrated and then cut into the glamour, not shredding it, but pushing it aside carefully so that he could take a good look without completely removing the spell or do damage to it that he might not be able to undo.

Potter would hate him for this of course, but this boy in his arms was barely Harry Potter. He was just a hurt boy that needed help. Draco had done it before, he knew what to do with hurt people.

Draco was shocked at what he discovered. The boystill softly crying in his arms wasn’t justskinny to a point where it had to be called a danger to his life, his hands had sore spots all over then and the skin around the inflamed parts was noticeably dry. From repetitive washing, Draco concluded. He knew the signs just all too well. He’d had a phase like that himself at some point. The boys eyes that were now red and puffy, had dark shadows under them, his lips were severely chapped and the corners of his mouth had blood on them from when he had been screaming still. His skin was waxen and his hair looked almost as lifeless as the rest of him. None of those things were necessarily prove of permanent damage (yet), but considering everything that Draco knew, they were clear signs of long term starvation as well as a good amount of self neglect and an overall unhealthy mind most likely.

Potter was whimpering and weeping in his arms still and Draco knew that the Gryffindor would be awfully embarrassed in the morning, just like Draco had been. Fortunately he hadn’t seemed to have noticed Draco’s inspection.

Maybe this would be even harder on Potter then it had been on Draco. With the way they were perceived in society, respectively… Draco was the one who had lost it all, was essentially seen as … dirt, worthless, evil nowadays. Who would deny him to be broken? Potter on the other hand… Potter was the hero who had saved them all, the young man who had killed the Dark Lord, the one who had been strong for the weak ones. He most likely was already celebrated as ‘the most powerful wizard alive’ out there. And nobody seemed to have realized just how broken he was, how weak. Draco knew now. Not that he would hold it against him. No, if anything this made the other boy a bit more... likeable for Draco. He had become more human in Draco’s eyes. Perhaps… relatable as a person.

Draco sighed softly into the dark hair on the boy’s head and then pulledthe glamour back in place over Potter’s frail body with a brief touch of his hand on the wand in his pocket. He was a bit surprised that it had worked.

The skinny boy still had his face buried in the Draco’s chest, crying softly with the Slytherin cradling him in his arms and nowgently starting to strokehis hair.

"You're gonna be fine, Potter. You’ll get through this. You always do.", he whispered into the unruly hair and closed his eyes. If it hadn't been his nemesis who lay in his arms, Draco would have almost enjoyed the warmth that they were sharing, the soft comfort of their hearts beating so close to one another. But as it was what it was and they were who they were, he tried to emotionally detach himself from the situation as best as he could.

But being so close to the other boy, the scent of warm milk, honey, cinnamon and moist forest soil enveloped Draco once more. Something that he only now remembered from last night. And with that came memories of the closeness that had been between them in that moment, personal… intimate closeness, that night before, that Potters warm body had granted him. Had granted... them both. He remembered how soothing the things that Potter had done to comfort him had felt, how thankful he’d been, how… peaceful it had felt. And this moment now Draco felt a desperate need to give back some of that comfort, help sooth the pain. Because Harry Potter lay in broken pieces before him and he needed someone to pick them up and put them back together, fix him of only a little bit. There was nobody else here but Draco, so that task was his now. He had to fix the pained boy in his arms as best as he could and he would do so, do everything that he could help, because for once in Draco’s life he had the chance to do something purely good, something right, something that could make a difference. And there was no way in hell that he would let go of this boy in terror in a moment like this. He would not let him suffer alone in the darkness. He would help.

Draco brought them both down to the mattress they had been sitting on with entangled limbs, carefully lay them down next to each other and carefully covered them with one of the blankets he’d found lying on the floor on the side there. Draco pulled Potter closer to himself and tucked his head under his chin. The raven haired boy’s sobs came out muffled against Draco’s chest and grew softer and softer. 

Draco had closed his eyes and forgotten that he was not supposed to enjoy the innocent intimacy they shared. And he felt himself relax against the others body, feeling so safe and secure and calm in the embrace, that he forgot about their history, about their hate for each other and all the things that they had done to hurt each other, to tear each other down. He forgot about all the bad things between, all the things that never could be changed. 

He forgot and  he  dreamed of a future that was less dark, a future  with hope and possibilities,  where they  both  would blossom and become the men they were supposed to be. Adults  who no longer hated  without reason, who chose to listen and learned to understand,  men who loved instead of loath ed, who  would forgive, but not forget. 

And Draco felt a spark of true hope in that moment. Without his notice a single tears escaped his eyes at the same time as his mouth formed a sad little smile against the other boy’s dark hair. And for some hours, all was well. Yes, all was well in this small sanctuary that they had created through this pain that they had shared with each other. They had created a secret little place that could shield them from reality for a while. 

Draco did not sleep, no, but that was okay. He watched over Potter’s breathing and continued to gently stroke the Gryffindor's soft hair, smelled his scent, that he would later hate to admit, was quite lovely. 

Potter had stopped crying  after a while  and fallen asleep some time in the early morning. Draco had found out  then  that his low humming had  quite the effect on Potter, as  the boy had fallen  asleep shortly after Draco had started it .

But now the sun was rising and Draco knew what that meant for them. Their time was up and Draco had to leave. He had to move over to his own ‘sorry-excuse-for-a-sleeping-place’. The other boy had done it for him and Draco would return that kindness. He would spare Potter’s pride and pretend as if nothing had happened, just like Potter had done for him the night before. Yes, it was the right thing to do and he knew that just all too well, and yet… He did not want to part. He did not want to leave just yet. Just the thought of it alone almost broke his heart, but... it was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?

He had to do it, yes. So he did. Draco carefully extracted himself from Potter’s embrace and stood up, draped the blanked back over Potters peacefully sleeping form and tiptoed back to where his travelling cloak was laid out. It was cold on the floor and Draco immediately missed the shared warmth. He missed the comfort that had helped to soothed his hurting soul if only for a little while. A tear fell from his eye, he barely noticed. 

He would try and sleep now, even if it was just for an hour or two, until it was time to get up again. His eyes were almost closing out of their own volition and before he even knew it, he had already drifted into sweet, dreamless slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not very confident in this chapter, but I hope it wasn't too terrible. I quite possibly overdid some parts of it more or less severely... but hope you won't judge me too hard for that. I'm still learning and english isn't my native language, but I'm trying my best.  
> I'm always grateful for criticism and suggestions for improvement.


	9. Hold back the river, let me look in your eyes

 "Tried to keep you close to me  
But life got in between  
Tried to square not being there  
But think that I should have been

Hold back the river, let me look in your eyes  
Hold back the river, so I  
Can stop for a minute and see where you hide  
Hold back the river, hold back

 Once upon a different life  
We rode our bikes into the sky  
But now we call against the tide  
Those distant days are flashing by

...

Hold back the river, let me look in your eyes  
Hold back the river, so I  
Can stop for a minute and be by your side  
Hold back the river, hold back

Lonely water, lonely water, won't you let us wander  
Let us hold each other  
Lonely water, lonely water, won't you let us wander  
Let us hold each other

Hold back the river, let me look in your eyes  
Hold back the river, so I  
Can stop for a minute and be by your side  
Hold back the river, hold back

Hold back the river, let me look in your eyes  
Hold back the river, so I  
Can stop for a minute and be by your side  
Hold back the river, hold

Lonely water, lonely water, won't you let us wander  
Let us hold each other  
Lonely water, lonely water, won't you let us wander  
Let us hold each other

["Hold back the river" by James Bay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mqiH0ZSkM9I)

 

* * *

Harry

The shadows had waited for him with the patience of someone who knew that their time would come. And as Harry fell asleep  then, they came  for him  without mercy, took  him  and dragged him down, deep down to the very depths of the pitch black abyss  is  soul  was living in . 

He knew it all too well, this hell of his, where he no longer existed as a person but as hurt and regret and guilt in its purest form. In this world - in his reality - he was no longer a boy with a name, he was just a lost, a pained soul. There was no space for anything else here. There was no escaping it, the endless torment. He would be kept here until he was broken, he knew. There was no mercy, no forgiveness, no salvation for him and he didn't expect it. This confinement here was the rightful sentence for the sins that he had committed. It was what he deserved, he did not fight it. He accepted the punishment, welcomed it even. That didn’t mean that it wasn't… Pain. Of course. 

I t was the most hurtful thing he ever experienced and still he surrendered himself  to it willingly  every  single  time , every time that  sleep took him  here, where he belonged .  Finally belonged. 

He surrendered to the darkness that was his own,  he knew. He knew. He understood.

And all  that  he could do as  he  was  being  punished, being shown the very worst of his failings, the  most grave of his choices  and decisions , his biggest regrets and fears, was scream,  scream, scream and cry and beg, beg,  beg for mercy that would never be granted. It hurt him, it hurt him beyond believe,  beyond comprehension even , until believe was only a theoretical concept  any more , a hypothesis  and comprehension was no more. A nd  all  hope was lost  then, b ecause after this  all-encompassing  pain,  after the cleansing fires that had burned, erased from existence, everything that once had been, nothing else  was  left.  N othing but pain,  pain and more pain after that. And the broken boy screamed  and screamed and screamed . He screamed for  salvation, which was his dying wish.  Salvation . 

And in  the emptiness, the loneliness , deep down in the abyss  where he lay with the shreds of his torn soul , he knew  that  he was lost. There was  coming back  from this  and no salvation  was ever going to be given to him.

The boy  howled in pain, his voice echoing from the rock surrounding him,  his cries  being thrown back at him, as he was  flooded with emotions.  They washed over him  like a violent flood, keeping him down, down down, pressed to the ground until there was no reason to believe  that  he would ever see the light of day  again .  He’d be here forever. Forever. Lost.

But then something changed. The boy with the shattered soul suddenly was taken hold of again, was dragged and pushed and shoved out of the abyss, his night terrors were ripped from him and his eyes suddenly opened wide with shock in another world. 

And t h is was when the boy became a boy with a name again and he  slowly began to  remember who he was. His name was Harry  James  Potter and he was scared beyond believe,  because although he had  just now  escaped his  own personal  hell, the shadows they were still there with him, waiting patiently once more for him to give in to them, to let them take him in his sleep and finish what they had started.  He was terrified.

But then there were those mercury eyes, liquid silver eyes staring into Harry’s own eyes and somehow he knew then that he would be safe now, with those strong arms holding onto him, holding his frail feeling body upright. Harry's body went limp with that sudden realization and he sank, sank, sank completely drained, so utterly exhausted against the warm chest before him. And his eyes burned, their lids felt so heavy, he could barely keep them open, but he tried, tried to fight the darkness that wanted to swallow him whole once more. He couldn't do it, he couldn’t... He was going to surrender. He was going to let it all go, let them have him if they wanted, the shadows. And then he started to cry. Heavy sobs wrecking his body and tears were streaming down his face like they never had before. He needed to breath, desperately needed some air to fill his lungs, but the heavier he cried, the more difficult it became. He silently panicked, unable to express his need for air as he was pressed against that warm chest. He felt the warmth enveloping him, heard that heart’s rapid beating, smelled the heady scent of lavender, rich and deep, fresh parchment and... rain. Heavy, summer day's rain. Rain. The powerful image of rain washing everything clean, came to Harry's delirious mind and he felt himself sigh helplessly, before slowly starting to breath more deeply and even again. 

He could see it right before his eyes now. Thick drops that fell to the forest ground  from a grey sky , soaking the rich earth with  heavenly  water, bringing relieve to starving plants  like a blessing . Harry could see the water pouring down,  down, down , washing the dust and  the  dirt from the  all the big and small  leaves,  from the branches of all sizes, the bark of the trunks and the stones on the ground and... And he was one of them, one soiled and stained leave  he was a nd the rain would wash him clean , redeem him, deliver him from his sins. He would be able to live. Harry was go ing to live.  Salvation.

"You're gonna be fine, Potter. You’ll get through this. You always do.", a voice whispered in to his hair,  a hand  gent l y stroking it. He knew th at voice, Harry  was sure , but  he could not think of how  or where from  he knew  it . He just knew  that  it was the voice of someone  whom  he had know n for  very  a long time and that he had never heard  it speaking quite like this  before . It sounded so… gentle, so concerned, so loving. Something about that seemed odd to Harry, but he couldn't  quite put a finger on  why that was .

The warm body  holding him, now carefully rearranged Harry's limbs  and lay them both down  beside each other, covering them with something warm and soft, before pull ing him close  once more .  Harry could still hear his own soft sobs, let them flow from his mouth  like  they were  the water that washed him clean.

A gentle humming sound rose from the warm chest Harry's face was buried into and it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. A wave of gratitude washed over Harry as he fell asleep to the soothing melody. Once more the darkness took him, but this time it was a velvety soft darkness that brought him nothing but comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everybody!  
> I'd so love to know what you think so far of this story and also if you've maybe had a look at the music I usually link at the beginning of a chapter. Did you listen to any of it and did you like it? Tell me please, I'm very curious. :-)  
> And I know that this was a very short chapter, but it best fit like this.


	10. Slipped up or something

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long, but here it is, the next chapter. Hope you enjoy.

“... A fight broke out  
Someone took objection to my face  
With a bottle  
  
I thought I was dreaming but some girls are screaming  
And my face is streaming blood as well  
Soon as I had spoken like some demon woken  
Now my nose is broken, what the hell  
...  
The guy was high  
Crazy kind of hatred in his eyes  
Taken over  
...  
Someone put some water on my face  
And I passed out  
  
I thought I was dreaming, there were sirens screaming  
And my friends were leaving me to die  
But it wasn't heaven, just ward 27  
And we'll do it all again tonight  
  
Take your fight outside  
(We've got this thing under control)  
That's it for tonight  
(We've got this thing under control)  
...  
We've got this thing under control  
We've got this thing under control  
  
Take your fight outside  
That's it for tonight...”

["Last orders" by Nothing But Thieves](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e--vY6wSQzk)

 

* * *

 

Harry:

Harry’s head hurt. And not just a little bit, it hurt like hell. His eyes were swollen and his throat was sore. He gulped against the pain and then opened his mouth for a yawn, before suddenly a sharp pain shot through his face from where the corners of his mouth were apparently torn. There was fresh blood running into his mouth from there now, which was absolutely disgusting. Harry hated blood, the taste of it even more so. He cautiously let a finger feel over the torn skin of his mouth that was thickly covered in crusted blood and fresh one soaking through. He felt the bile rise in his throat. How did that even happen?

His vision was blurry and even when he found his glasses and put them on, his vision still wasn’t as clear as it should have been.

He let his eyes search the room he had woken up in and quickly recognized as the old classroom he used to sleep alone in, but now was supposed to be sharing with Malfoy. The blonde sat on his travel cloak on the floor, once more working on some drawing on a piece of parchment it seemed, not showing if he’d already noticed that Harry had awoken. Or acknowledging in any way the strangeness that was the fact that Harry apparently had slept with him in the room. Malfoy had returned before morning after all. What a joy.

“Wha- ... Wha-...”, Harry croaked, but his voice broke every time. He gulped painfully a few times, then tried to clear his throat, which was also rather painful. Malfoy slowly turned around then to face Harry with an in question arched brow. “What happened to me?”, Harry finally managed to choke out, wincing a bit at the pain in his throat. The blonde’s brows furrowed at the same time as Harry felt himself blush. That was not what he’d been meaning to ask, even though it had been the most urgent one on his mind.

“That’s what I should be asking _you_.”, Malfoy said seemingly calm. But Harry could see the distrust quite clearly in his eyes, as well as a bit of hesitation and even fear. He could read the other boy easily like this and that was a very odd thing. Yes, Harry had always known how to get under Malfoy’s skin, had always known exactly what to say to provoke a reaction from him, to hurt him back, but reading his emotions… Well no, that had never been an easy task. Not like this anyway. Sure, when Malfoy was angry it was all over his face and… But something other then what the blonde allowed him to see? No. And fear most certainly was not one of the emotions Malfoy would let Harry see in him. But before he could wonder about the fact that it seemed just a bit too easy for him to read Malfoy’s emotions, the Slytherin’s words finally sank in and then caused a chain reaction in Harry’s brain.

Pictures, _memories_ came rushing back to Harry, from the night before and he knew then what had happened to him. What had happened with Malfoy, who had… And it scared the living hell out of Harry. His eyes widened in shock and he almost forgot to breath for a moment.

“I… What… Why…?”, Harry stuttered. He took a deep breath and tried to clear his throat once more before he spoke again. “I’m… That was…” Harry took a breath, his heart beating in his throat, his head was pounding. “I just had a nightmare, okay?!” He tried to bark out at last, but as he raised his voice it broke, sounding high and scared in the end.

“Fine by me. You were the one screaming and thrashing on the ground.”, Malfoy said, seemingly unmoved by Harry’s loss of face.

“I wasn’t- ”, Harry started to defend himself, but was very rudely interrupted by an annoying blonde.

“Yeah, right. You were only screaming your head off and almost killed my hearing for the fun of it.”, Malfoy dead panned.

“I…”, Harry started, but there was nothing to lie about any more. Malfoy had been there with him, he had… _held him_ … Harry gulped painfully. He… _had stroked his hair and told him that he would be fine._ He gulped again, wincing slightly.

He looked at Malfoy then, who looked not amused.

“There’s blood on your ears. You know that, right?”, Harry said with his hoarse voice, just for the sake of saying something into the oppressive silence, that would hopefully not further his humiliation. And for some reason this seemed to actually work. And freak Malfoy out. Harry watched a bit stunned as the Slytherin franticly tried to wipe the dried blood from his ears. With his sleeves. And he was slightly blushing. Blushing! Malfoy was blushing. And wasn’t that a strange sight? Harry felt a smile tug at his lips.

“I _told you_. You were screaming your head off. What were you dreaming about anyway?”, the blonde asked with an almost shaky voice, yet still somehow tried to pretend as if he was angry with Harry. Harry decided then that he liked Malfoy much better when he wasn’t so strangely... insecure, but thoroughly annoyed and angry with him instead. Yeah, because that was save territory, them being angry at each other.

They were both trying to deflect topics they didn’t want to talk about now, Harry realized suddenly. And wasn’t that an epiphany, so early in the morning no less.

“It was nothing. Not your business, Malfoy. Don’t bother yourself with it.”, Harry said disparagingly. The look that suddenly appeared on Malfoy’s face was thunderous.

“It was _you_ who bothered me with it!” Malfoy all but growled. He really looked angry now. But there also was fear still lingering in his eyes somewhere. Harry was a confused and rather unsettled by that discovery.

“Forget it then! It never happened.”, Harry hissed and looked away. It was silent for a second, before Malfoy asked:

“Is this going to happen every night now?”

Harry looked for the first time this morning directly into Malfoy’s eyes. They were grey, not mercury, he noticed this immediately, but he also noticed how deeply grieved they looked and there was something akin to… something akin to a pleading look in the other boy’s eyes.

Harry didn’t understand.

“No. It’s not going to happen every night. I have nightmares, I put a silencing spell around me and that’s it. End of story.”, he ground out.

But he _had_ put up a silencing spell last night, Harry remembered suddenly. He didn’t quite understand how this whole thing had even happened. Malfoy shouldn’t have noticed a thing.

He was about to mention Malfoy’s own nightmares the night before that, but he decided in the last moment that he would not sink so low as to bring that fiasco up again.

“Well, I’ve got to get to work now. Have fun.”, Malfoy sneered, looking as if he knew exactly what Harry had just thought about mentioning. The blonde got up and left the room in a rush.

Harry sank back against his mattress with a deep sigh. He reached for his wand and cast a ‘tempus’. It was seven thirty. Harry groaned and closed his eyes again. His body hurt like hell and he was absolutely exhausted from… everything. He so wanted to just go back to sleep again, get just a short moment of peaceful quiet. But he knew how that would end so he just lay there trying to rest a bit.

He was ready to face the world again now, Harry decided after a few moments of calm breathing. He got up slowly, put on some fresh clothes, then went to the bathroom to splash some water onto his face, wash away the blood, brushed his teeth and then made his way down to the great hall to steal some food from the tables and start his work.

Malfoy was nowhere to be seen, but what did Harry care? He probably was already with his group.

*

Harry did his ‘chores’, went from one wrecked place to another, but his concentration quickly faded to nothing. And he couldn’t for the life of him forget how Malfoy had held him, cradled him in his arms, how he’d stroked his hair, his back, how he’d cared for him. It send shiver down Harry’s spine, remembering Malfoy’s gently hands on him.

What was he thinking? Malfoy did _not_ care for him! He had done what he _had to_ to shut Harry up. Nothing more nothing less. For goodness sake, Harry had made the blokes ears bleed with his screams! Oh Merlin, he was never gonna live that down, was he? Making someone’s ears bleed with your screams… He could never again tell people off for calling him a ‘drama queen’.

 _Forget it, Harry!_ , he told himself. Yes, just forget it. That would be a blessing.

Harry was lucky that no one else had heard his screams. It was bad enough that Malfoy knew now and oddly enough Harry felt like this secret might just be safe with the Slytherin boy for now. What if he was wrong about that though? Malfoy could be out there talking to reporters right this moment for all he knew. He’d done it before after all. Harry was silently panicking at that thought.

He knew something equally compromising about the blonde though, didn’t he? Harry knew that the other boy had them as well, nightmares. Bad ones, really bad ones. Maybe just as bad as Harry’s own. He wondered what they were about…

Time passed slowly that day, but with every passing minute Harry became more and more agitated.

So when the three hours of the morning shift where over, he indeed was so very restless that he seriously considered for a moment to go to and see Madam Pomfrey and ask her for a calming draught. Even though he positively _hated_ the hospital wing and had always done his very best to avoid going there. At any cost. Not with much luck of course, for somehow he always ended up there anyway, but still. And normally he would have never even thought about going there if his life wasn’t at risk, but going there to ask for something as stupid as a calming draught? He wasn’t a god damn teenage girl stressing about the exams or the dress she wanted to get for her date or something like that. And calming potions were only for those of course.

No, he needed to fix this on his own. No calming draughts.

Harry was walking as fast as he could without actually running now. Purely for the pleasure of walking very fast of course. He seemed to need the exercise.

And before he even knew he stood in front of the open door of the old classroom.

Harry was still wearing his invisibility cloak, like he did most of the time in the castle, when he quietly entered the room. And there was Malfoy sitting on his cloak, shirt lifted on one side to reveal a large bluish-black bruise and a bleeding cut under one of his lower ribs. Harry stood by the door and stared in shock at the from pain distorted face the blonde made as he cast a breathless _‘Episkey’_ and some other healing spell. The bruise faded a bit and the cut was closing slowly, but the look of pain was still very visible on Malfoy’s face.

Harry took his invisibility cloak off and went to sit on his own sleeping place. Malfoy caught the movement immediately and was startled by Harry’s sudden appearance, almost ripped his shirt as he hastily tried to cover the injury.

“What did you do?”, Harry asked wearily.

“Nothing!”, Malfoy hissed, but winced noticeably when he made the move to face Harry.

“You’re rib is cracked, isn’t it?”, Harry asked, his still hoarse voice sounding calmer then he’d expected it to. “So, what did you do?” Harry was curious and even a bit worried perhaps, which was odd. Being worried about someone like Malfoy. Then again, Harry - _unlike some people_ \- was a very caring person, wasn't he? It was just his nature to be a bit… shocked at the sight of an injury like that.

“I slipped up or something.”, Malfoy grumbled.

“ _Or something_?”, Harry repeated a bit teasingly maybe and his brow might have accidentally arched.

“Yes, _or something_! What’s it to you, Potter?”, Malfoy snarled. And he was caught, fuck. _Think, Harry, think!_ But the only thing that came to Harry’s mind was that he didn’t like that Malfoy didn’t tell him what had really happened and was all defensive.

Since when did he care though? Since when did he have a problem with Malfoy being defensive? Malfoy was always defensive! _G_ _od damn it, g_ _et a grip,_ _you wanker_ _!_ , Harry told himself.

“I don’t like the thought of you not working to your full potential, Malfoy.”, Harry croaked out with the best angry-face he could muster under the circumstances.

The blonde’s eyes instantly narrowed at his harsh words and Harry immediately regretted them. That had been unnecessary, he told himself. _He_ – unlike others - didn’t go around hurting people. People who already _were_ hurt. All but lying on the floor crying… Gods, what was wrong with him?

“I wasn’t aware that you thought I _had_ any potential.”, Malfoy replied sarcastically.

“I don’t! But you are here to work, to repair what you’ve destroyed, Malfoy!” Harry all but screamed, his voice giving out again at the end. The Slytherin sneered at him.

“I repeat: What is it to you, Potter?” Caught again. Damn it.

“It’s my home that you destroyed!”, Harry hissed. Fear was flooding his veins suddenly.

“Your home, Potter? Not much of a home any more, is it?”, Malfoy sneered, a malicious smirk appearing on the Slytherins face. The snake knew that he was onto something, didn’t he? This was not at all going how Harry had wanted it to. But what exactly was it that he’d wanted?

“Shut it, Malfoy!”, Harry hissed, as pictures came rushing to the forefront of his mind, of the blood spilled on these grounds that once had been holy to him. Blood that had sullied the castle, his one true home. A safe place, a sanctuary it had been once. Supposed to have been. And now… It was a home no more. “I would so love to punch you for that, but you’re already hurt….”, he grumbled more to himself then to anybody else, lowering his gaze to the ground, trying to calm himself with deep breaths.

“Do it, Potter! I dare you to!”, Malfoy hissed, a strange tinge to his voice. He sounded almost desperate now. As if he _wanted_ Harry to hurt him. It appalled Harry like nothing else and suddenly he wanted very much to turn around and leave the room, just leave when he saw the pain and the hurt so clearly in Malfoy’s swirling, silvery-greyish eyes. Harry felt a bit unhinged, dizzy almost.

He did the only plausible thing then. He pulled his wand and with one last step he stood right in front of the blonde, digging his wand into his pale throat. A sigh escaped Malfoy’s lips and his eyelids fluttered for a second, before his darkened eyes opened fully again to stare into Harry’s green ones.

The hand that Harry held his wand with had slightly, just very slightly brushed the blondes exposed neck for less then a second, but a powerful rush of relief was washing over him and he immediately felt calmer. It was odd, very odd.

And then he noticed that the blonde’s eyes were properly mercury silver once again. Harry shuddered violently. They stared into each others eyes, frozen in place. Only Harry’s hand had moved, lowered the wand in it a bit, although he couldn't remember doing it. Malfoy’s eyes were so wide as they bore into Harry’s, so wide and so alive.

They were standing far too close. No, this was wrong. Something was seriously wrong with this situation. This wasn’t natural.

Harry pulled back his hand abruptly, by accident lightly brushing Malfoy’s chest with his hand as he did so he once more felt a bit calmer, a bit more balanced. He was going crazy. This was the ultimate prove. And with that thought he hastily turned and stormed out the room.

Shit! What the hell had just happened in there?

Harry ran down the empty corridors, only half way to his next assignment realizing that he’d forgotten his invisibility cloak in the room. He found himself an alcove somewhere and sat down at the small window, trying to catch his breath. Shit, how late was it? He cast a _‘_ _T_ _empus’_ , confirming that the next shift was about to start. He groaned. He was too damn exhausted to run from one end of the castle to the other, fixing the things the other volunteers were to stupid or too lazy to repair on their own. Ans it wasn’t even like anybody would notice his missing with him always working on his own. But no, he couldn’t miss work, for lots of different reasons. One of them being that he desperately needed something to distract himself with from the unhinged thoughts in his head.

He really wondered what Malfoy was doing right now.

 _No!_ he was _not_ going to think about that stupid, stupid, slimy git any more! He’d done enough of that and look where it had lead him. There was no reason to think about the him.

‘ _No, there’s plenty of reason for_ _you_ _to think about him.’_ , an annoying voice in his head berated him. Right. Well, there was no reason for Harry to _worry_ about. They had fought, like they always did… But that was exactly the point, wasn’t it? The _did not_ fight like they used to do. It was… different. Something was different. Something was seriously _wrong_ with them.

 *

Three hours. They were torture. Harry’s thoughts ran in circles and yet again the more time passed, the more agitated he got. He made multiple mistakes at his work, especially as the end of the second shift neared. And for some reason he’d started to consider going to the Great Hall for lunch after the second shift would end. _(Which he very much avoided to do most of the time.)_ He thought about going there _without_ his invisibility cloak. _(Which he almost never did.)_ To stare some more at Malfoy. _(Which he should never do.)_ To try and figure the whole thing out. Because he needed to know what was going on. He needed to know that everything was still how it was supposed to be. That the world was still round and not flat and that the earth still revolved around the sun and not the other way around. No, scratch the whole circling around something business. That was totally the wrong comparison.

Harry couldn’t go to the Great Hall for lunch of course. He could not just go in there _visible_ to everybody. He _never_ did that! He would not break his habits for Draco fucking Malfoy. Even to consider that was ridiculous and… frightening, to say the least.

*

So, he was gonna go to the Great Hall for lunch, he’d decided. He, after all, had the same right to go there as everybody else. No, he was _not_ going to avoid eating there just because bloody Malfoy _might_ be eating there. He was going to go in there, sit at the Gryffindor table like he used to do and fucking eat some food. He was hungry, wasn’t he? Yeah, totally. So why shouldn’t he go?

And then he was already there, arriving at the enormous doors of the Great Hall and walked right in.

Harry scanned the crowd with a practised glance through the room and easily spotted the person he’d been looking for. Malfoy sat at the Slytherin table as usual, but in the furthest corner from the door, eating his lunch with his long blonde hair tied back at the nape of his neck. And as if he’d known that Harry was looking at him, Malfoy’s head suddenly snapped up and he looked straight into Harry’s eyes.

Harry froze in place as their eyes met. The people behind him, trying to get inside, were bumping into him, muttering angrily too, but he barely noticed. Malfoy seemed to be just as parallelized as Harry felt, but unlike him, the blonde had severely blanched at the sight of him standing there. It seemed to only take a few seconds then until the whole room erupted with whispers and excited murmurs broke out throughout the hall. Fingers were pointed at them and everybody was staring at the scene they were causing. But when Harry finally became aware of this, it was already too late and although the only thing he really wanted to do in that moment was to flee, to escape this room of nosy people, he couldn’t do that. So he did the next best thing, which was to hurriedly walk to the furthest end of the Gryffindor table from the entrance, seating himself exactly opposite to Malfoy and starting to mindlessly fill his plate and goblet. While doing this, he never once let go of Malfoy’s eyes. He knew that everybody’s eyes were following him through the room, tracking his every move, but the only eyes he could feel were Malfoy’s.

Harry tried to make his face appear blank, clear it of the fear and insecurity that he was feeling and turned his stares into death glares. And Malfoy tried to do the same, quite convincingly too as it seemed, judging by the looks he was receiving from the other people in the room. But Harry saw right through his mask, saw the same very emotions that he himself felt flashing in Malfoy’s eyes. No one else seemed to notice though, but Harry wasn’t surprised about that. Draco Malfoy was quite the artist with his masks after all. He wore them so well that he’d had Harry convinced for _years_ , that Malfoy was exactly who he’d wanted Harry to believe he was. But things had changed and now Harry had was slowly starting to understand those masks. He’d had but a glimpse of what lay beneath the indifference, the anger, the aloofness, the superiority, the disgust and what else Draco Malfoy was flashing around to deceive people, but he instinctively knew that he was onto something. And just then his naturally strong curiosity had awoken from its slumber.

 

Draco: 

Potter was staring at him. What the hell was the idiot thinking, causing a scene like that? Was he trying to get Draco killed? Draco was trying to convince himself then that he was actually angry at the stupid fuck, when in truth he was scared quite shitless. But as it seemed, so was Potter. Most people wouldn’t notice of course, but Draco had always been especially attentive to even the smallest things, the very slightest of changes in facial expression or gestures for example and he knew exactly how to interpret body language. Yes, he was rather brilliant at that, always had been really. And Potter… Well, _Potter_ was an open book to him, now more then ever. Honestly, Draco had known the Gryffindor for far too long a time to _not_ have internalized the boy’s very own signs and indicators, the tells that betrayed him, telling Draco exactly what he wanted to know.

And Potter was scared out of his mind right now and the longer they sat there, pretending to eat, while really only staring at each other, the more nervous and uncomfortable the Gryffindor became. Although by all appearances that was not just only because of Draco any more, but became more and more about the many people in the room that were slowly getting ready to make a move on Potter now, wanting to get his attention, by the looks of it forcefully even if need be. And if Draco hadn’t known any better, he would have thought that the raven haired ‘hero-boy’ staring at him, was holding onto him - _Draco Malfoy -_ with his eyes for bare life. It looked as if their entangled gazes had become a life line for Potter, so to speak, that kept the other boy from freaking out and mindlessly running out of the Great Hall. And even though he didn’t quite understand why, Draco had decided to granted his enemy the courtesy of letting him stare, letting him hold onto him. He quite liked the thought of Potter depending on him to be honest. So that he might use that against him some other time of course. He was a snake, a Slytherin, after all. And they only ever served themselves.

Some people started to make their move now as Draco noticed out of the corners of his eyes and Potter seemed to have noticed as well. And with that the Gryffindor suddenly broke the stare, turning and trying to look surprised as some of the volunteers came towards him, effectively confining him to the corner of the room where he was sitting. There was no easy way out of this for Potter, Draco could tell. But what was the ‘Great Saviour’ even doing here in the Great Hall? He had never before shown up to the meals and Draco could guess now that it was for this exact reason here. And that was when it suddenly hit Draco. Potter was here for _him_. But why?

They were cornering Potter now and the boy looked more and more uncomfortable with it, his right hand slowly and unnoticed by most made, it’s way to his sleeve where the Gryffindor probably kept his wand these days. And Draco wondered how these people did not realize that it was a very, very bad idea to corner a war survivor who had a wand in his possession and more spells in his mind then they probably knew all together. Draco knew how this would end, having known Potter for this long. It wasn’t gonna be pretty and Draco was most certainly _not_ going to stay to see this disaster play out. Draco got up from his seat and rushed towards the exit. Potter, alarmed by the sudden movement at the Slytherin table it seemed, must have snapped out of it then, because he suddenly got up as well and came running after Draco.

Well, that went… oddly…? Odd?

The blonde quickened his steps, taking the fastest way up to the old classroom. Potters steps kept following him, echoing loudly through the corridors. In silence they passed the painting with the cherry tree on the meadow that marked the entrance to the oldest part of the castle, where the classroom they stayed in was. Draco hurried along the crooked corridors and Potter followed him, not uttering a word. And Draco had had enough of that. He swirled around on the spot, making the stupid Gryffindor almost run into him.

“Following me again, Potter? What do you want?”, Draco snapped, sounding rather a lot harsher then he’d intended to, which strangely enough seemed to bring the boy with the dark hair out of concept.

“I’m not following you, Malfoy! I’m trying to get to my room!”, Potter barked, his voice sounding hoarse still. Draco rolled his eyes and took a step back to get a bit distance between them. Standing so close was unsettling.

“ _Our_ room, Potter. We share that room, whether we like it or not.” Potter looked angrily at him now and Draco couldn’t help but smirk in return.

“As far as I’m concerned, someone who sleeps on a cloak on the dirty floor is a visitor at most.”, the Gryffindor replied coldly. And he was right, Draco had to admit to himself at least.

“And I bet sleeping on a thin mattress on said very dirty floor is so much better...”, Malfoy snarled with narrowed eyes.

“Oh, it is! Not that you would know-”, Potter started to say and then cut himself off, when he realized with horror (judging by the look on his face) what he’d just said. He stood there in front of Draco like he was petrified.

“Oh, but I _do_ know, Potter.”, Draco said with a wolfish grin, which seemed to scare the shit out of Potter. Draco stored that information away for later. The Gryffindor first blanched rapidly, before blushing a faint pink colour.

“Shut up, Malfoy! You know nothing.”, Potter hissed and then stormed off in the direction of their room, brushing Draco’s shoulder with his own as he passed. If that hadn’t caused a sharp pain shooting through Draco’s side, where his cracked rib was, he would have noticed the calming effect that little touch had on him.

Nothing had gone quite like Draco had hoped it would today and everything he touched seemed to go to shit. It was… infuriating and disappointing.

First there had been the incident right after Potter had awoken in the morning. What Draco had said to him had made the Gryffindor so bloody defensive and although that usually was a good thing, Draco couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t in this situation. And all of that because Draco hadn’t known how to answer that stupid question of what had happened to Potter during the night. What had he been supposed to say to that, huh? And then add the cursed question of _‘why’_ to the mix and well… Yes, because why exactly _had_ Draco comforted Potter?

So you see, it was Draco’s own fault really. There had to have been a much more elegant solution to this, but he had missed the chance to… To do what exactly? To not argue maybe? To not take their usual path. Because Draco found he really was tired of the arguing, which surprised him at first, to be quite honest. While it at first had been energizing to argue with Potter again, now all Draco really seemed to want was some calm and quiet and…. and… Maybe… Maybe he wanted a truce. It was mind boggling.

However, that was not going to happen in this life time, so he could as well forget it.

And then they had started arguing and bickering again, interrupted only by Draco’s totally inappropriate, personal question of what Potter had dreamed about. Yeah, that had admittedly been an exceptionally stupid move and he truly had no clue where that question had come from all of a sudden. He’d been very horrified to realize then, that he had been _disappointed_ that Potter did not answer said question, did not tell him about his dream. Draco of course did not care about what was bothering Potter that much, but still. And then Draco had further embarrassed himself by snapping at Potter for not telling him and that was when the Gryffindor had told him to just forget about everything that had happened and that really had really hurt. It wasn’t just that Draco knew he would be unable to do so, but also that he… He did not _want_ to forget he had realized then.

That was when Draco had tried to go back to…. not being a jerk to Potter. He had asked the other boy if this would be happening every night now, which in hindsight might have been the wrong thing to say, but Draco hadn’t wanted to offend the git with his maybe not so carefully chosen words. He’d just wanted to… to connect or something, as strange as that was. But Potter of course _had_ been offended and gotten even more defensive then before if that was possible.

And Draco had just known that Potter had gotten dangerously close to mentioning Draco’s own nightmares then, to make him back off. So… Draco had run away. As per usual. He was a coward. And an idiot. He had been a jerk to Potter, knowing that it wouldn’t help him to get anywhere close to what he’d wanted to achieve. But it seemed that fighting with the ‘boy-who-lived-to annoy-Draco’ was still too deeply instilled in him for Draco not to immediately go back to his old ways as soon as he was stressed.

So that was how things had gone to shit in the morning. But of course it had gotten even worse after that. The next time they had met was when Potter had caught him trying to take care of the injury he’d gotten during work, when Lydia had very ‘accidentally’ pushed him and he had fallen through a hole in the floor, where he’d inconveniently gotten stuck for some time. Fortunately Potter had only seen parts of it, when he had caught him with his shirt lifted at the side. Draco hadn’t ever enjoyed being caught in a vulnerable situation, so he had snapped at Potter - again - , trying to drive Potter away, even though it wasn’t what he’d truly wanted. Not completely at least. But Draco hadn’t really thought clearly in that moment and had just reacted like a hurt little animal. Stupidly. Really, really stupidly.

And he hadn’t even left it at that, no, he had made things even worse by teasing Potter about calling Hogwarts his home, as hypocritical as that was. Draco indeed had acted so… _disgustingly_ towards the Gryffindor, that Potter had pulled his wand at him, the tip already digging into his throat and Draco… Draco had almost _begged_ him to do it, to hurt him. Just thinking about it made Draco colour from embarrassment. Yes, he really _had_ wanted Potter to hurt him in that moment, it was true. It had felt so… so _right_ somehow. Painfully right. But why? He did not quite understand. It wasn’t like this had been the first time that Draco had felt the need to be punished. No, but he hadn’t simply wanted the other boy to punish him either, to hurt him He had wanted… He had wanted him to… He had craved the closeness, had craved the touch. Yes, and that was what made Draco feel so ashamed about this. He had yearned for just… just the _slightest_ touch from Potter. And when the boy had accidentally given him exactly that, Draco had not been able to hold in the sigh of relief that had escaped his lips.

Had he really become that weak? Draco had never before given in to these most dangerous desires and now all he seemed to do was just that. Give in. Give in to…

Draco was very fortunate that no one else had witnessed this. He would not have survived the shame, the humiliation of it. Gods, if his father knew… Draco was helplessly shuddering at just the thought of that.

And then? Oh yes, then they’d stared at each other once more, not saying a single word. And it had not been the same looks they’dshot each other for all those long years. There was no loathing, no deeply rooted hatred in them. They instead had been searching looks, curious eyes looking for something… a connection of a sort maybe. It had been frightening. And Potter must have felt the same, because he suddenlyhad turned around and run from the room. That kind of exit would have even made Severus Snape proud had it not been done out of fear, Draco thought to himself. A sad little smile was tugging on his lips at that thought.

Well, next Potter had shown up at lunch in the Great Hall. Draco had already figured out by now that the ‘Great Saviour’ almost never showed up for meals in the Great Hall to sit and eat with the common people, which Draco most certainly was not counting himself among. So it had surprised him to see the ‘boy-wonder’ waltz into the room like he bloody owned it. Only to then stand there frozen by the entrance when Draco had looked up at him when he’d felt those disturbingly green eyes on him. Stupid Potter, of course he had to cause a scene. Yeah, Draco had been pretty mad at the stupid Gryffindork for that, for a while. You’d think that Slytherins would be the ones who knew how to make a memorable entrance, but Potter surely seem to know about that as well. No one would forget that creepy staring contest Potter had initiated any time soon.

So they had stared at each other again, unmoving for a while, because Draco had been unable to look away. Or move for that matter. _You_ try looking away from those eyes and then you can talk! Yes, exactly.

Well, but unlike Potter, Draco had immediately realized the attention their little scene had been attracting and he had not at all liked it. And what had Potter done when he’d finally noticed? The moron did _not_ leave of course, like the stubborn prick that he was, oh no, he just took a seat at the end of the Gryffindor table right across from where Draco was sitting on the other side of the room. And all of that while never once letting go of Draco’s eyes. If people hadn’t known about their blood feud, they’d probably have thought that they were ‘eye - fucking’ each other. Ugh! How dare Potter do that to him! And no, Draco was _not_ going to think further about that. This was totally beneath Draco and it was a very, _very_ awful thought indeed, that anyone could possibly have gotten that impression of their staring contest. Because it had been just that: A staring contest, nothing more, nothing less. Not even a friendly staring contest at that and there most certainly had be no ‘eye - fucking’ involved either. Because that would have been just… just _wrong_. Yes, very, very wrong. Draco would _not_ have liked that one single bit. That would have been... awful, disgusting! Yes, very disgusting indeed, Potter and him… Just _no_.

Draco was not going to thinking about it any longer. Going on now.

Draco had saved them both from utter embarrassment then. He had skilfully turned his stares into those fierce death glares that he’d always been sovery good at and that had been the only good thing that had happened all day, because it had worked perfectly.

Well, and then the whole rest had happened and now he was wandering through the narrow corridors on his way back to _their_ room, Potter following behind. Why was Draco even going there, he did not know. Oh yes, because it was _his_ room as well, unlike what Potter had tried to imply. Draco might still be ‘sleeping’ on nothing but his cloak on the floor, but that did not give Potter the right to call him a ‘guest’ in that room. Draco had a right to be there as much as Potter and he was going to go and claim his place in that shared room. Not by conjuring himself his own mattress of course, because he could not just comply and mindlessly fulfil the stupid requirements that Potter had set. No, Draco was going to do it in his own way. Although he wasn’tso sure yet about how to do that exactly. Never mind. It would come to him soon enough.

He rushed through the open door of the old classroom, scowling at Potter as he entered behind him, before sitting down on his cloak. What was he going to do now? Something. Yes, he had to do something to make his claim official. And he would do that by… Yes! He knew just the right thing to do and it would annoy Potter to no end as well. Oh, this was a beautiful plan. He was a genius, Draco told himself and with a self satisfied smirk he started his work.

After pulling out a fresh piece of parchment and enlarging it magically, Draco lay the sheet down to the floor, before starting to search his belongings for something… Ah yes, that was just the thing he needed. Handy thing that house pride for the house of the snakes meant having the Slytherin crest adorn most everything noteworthy belonging a student owns. Used to at least. Draco was a bit more timid about his house affiliation these days. He had all in all taken very few items with him for this ‘trip’, most of which he had especially chosen for being the most inconspicuous and plain ones he owned. And yet, at least on his pencil case the emblem stood still proudly.

He really didn’t envy the Slytherin students attending Hogwarts next term, he thought to himself. The prejudice against Slytherin house would be far worse now then it had been before and Draco regretted the role he himself had played in this development. But he was not going to let Potter see the truth. Potter had no right to his pain and shame and regret. Draco had no plans to let him know this, so with a bit of an uneasy feeling he tried to ignore, he cast a copying spell on the small crest on his pencil case - positively surprised that the spell even took - and applied it to the large parchment on the floor. He noticed the looks Potters hot him, but chose to ignore them as well.

Draco enlarged the small crest on the parchment until the Slytherin house crest was showing big and proud on it. Draco smiled to himself in satisfaction, got up, took the parchment and his wand and then carefully made his way through the piled up discarded furniture (which he was glad wasn’t reaching much higher then his head, unlike some other nightmarish places he still visited in his dreams) to the next best piece of wall. Potter was now openly staring at him with his mouth hanging ajar and Draco started to really enjoyed this. With a flick of his wand Draco cast a ‘permanent sticking charm’ on the back of his parchment and stuck it to the stony wall with a smack. Such a satisfying sound it made, oh yes.

“Just a guest, huh?”, Draco murmured with a smirk on his face as he turned around to face Potter with a provocatively raised eyebrow. The Gryffindork had gotten up from his place on that old ragged mattress to have a better look at what the Slytherin was doing and now looked at Draco like he had lost his last marbles. And somehow Draco found he rather liked that. With his head held high he marched back to his cloak on the floor, when Potter finally snapped out of his stupor, cleared his throat in a nervous manner and said:

“I guess a bit of house pride won’t do any harm.”, with a small hint of a grin gracing his features even. Draco felt a bit flustered.

 

“Let’s hope your house mates won’t hear about how you’ve approved of _me_ hanging a _Slytherin crest_ on the wall of _‘your’ room_.”, Draco replied with a bit of a mischievous glint in his eyes and a smirk as soon as he got his words back.

Had he not witnessed it himself, Draco wouldn’t have believed the small, genuine chuckle that came tumbling from Potter’s lips then. He stared at the raven haired boy in utter disbelieve for an eternity it felt like.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t retaliate, did I?”, Potter said smirking. Draco shook his head in confusion, but said then almost with a properly faked sneer:

“Do try your best, Potter.” He was a bit at war with himself in this moment. Part of him was utterly shocked and a bit horrified at how this conversation between them was developing, while the other part was very much enjoying it.

“Is that a challenge?”, Potter asked daringly. Draco didn’t have to think twice about it and said:

“You bet it is.” He took a few quick steps towards Potter and stretched out his hand towards the Gryffindor to seal the deal. Only then Draco realized the similarity of the situation to the one that had started their enmity all those years ago, when Draco had offered his friendship to Potter in first year and had gotten the offer slapped back into his face by the other boy. Draco inwardly cringed hard at the thought of how much that had hurt and how (if he was being honest with himself) he’d never truly gotten over that first rejection, even with the knowledge of how childish that was.

Draco did his very best to not let show on his face all the emotions that were welling up inside of him and was about to pull back his vulnerably outstretched hand, when Potter’s hand suddenly came up, hesitatingly hanging in mid air before Draco’s. The Gryffindor looked Draco deep in the eyes then, before his warm hand closed around Draco’s.

“You have yourself a deal.”, Potter all but whispered into Draco’s face, standing so close. A strange sensation came over Draco then and he almost ripped his hand right out of Potter’s firm grip like he’d been burned by the touch. It was a weird tingling and prickling sensation that shot right from their joined hands up through his arm and from there on sped through his whole body until every inch of his skin, his muscles, tendons and bones felt like they were a bit on fire and rearranging themselves inside of his body in the strangest ways, to create a whole new picture. It was not painful at all, really, not even that uncomfortable, just… felt like Draco’s whole perspective, his reality was shifting. It was dizzying and unsettling. His body was heating up in seconds like he had been hit by a very powerful heating charm, making Draco blush and shudder fiercely.

By the looks of it, the same happened to Potter, which was the only reassuring thing in this moment. The forest green eyes in the Gryffindors face widened in shock, his breath stuttered, his body shook for a second and then there was that glint in those eyes all of a sudden, a spark that Draco hadn’t seen in them for a very, very long time. It made Potter look so alive. So truly alive.

They both let go of teach others hand, arms falling limply to their sides as they stared at each other in shock, searching for bad intent in each others eyes for a moment - finding none -, before breaking eye contact, turning away and very awkwardly making their way back to their respective ‘sleeping places’.

What the hell had just happened? Draco gently rubbed and massaged his right hand and arm a bit. The tingling just wouldn’t go away. But oddly enough, Draco felt much calmer now and… and a bit less alone, less broken.

It was… worrying.

 

Harry:

Harry’s whole body was tingling. It was an _awful_ kind of tingling, he tried to convince himself. But really, it wasn’t. To be honest, this kind of tingling was everything that was right with this world. Harry knew that he shouldn’t feel this way about a handshake. A simple handshake. With...with Malfoy. His _enemy!_ But it had been a _good_ handshake. A very good handshake that had immediately calmed Harry down, had him feel almost peaceful now, content. Harry felt like he’d waited his whole life for this to happen, like he had known that this was how it had to be. Of course that was an absolutely crazy thing to think. What ever had just happened between them, it didn’t mean a thing. It hadn’t even been a friendly handshake. Maybe there had been some kind of magic involved. It certainly had felt like it. Harry could have sworn that he had felt the world stop spinning and tilting in a very strange way for a send there, reality shifting completely, rearranging itself…

Maybe Malfoy had made Harry agree to some weird magical bet somehow, because that was what it had been about, hadn’t it? A contest? But thinking back… Harry had not missed the look in Malfoy’s eyes when he had initiated the handshake. He had looked frightened for a second there, a bit hurt even. Harry had been unable not to think of the last time the blonde had proposed a handshake. A proposition for friendship it had been then; first year. But Malfoy couldn’t possibly have thought about that, he most likely didn’t even remember it. And Malfoy had looked frightened because he had doubted his ability to convince Harry to enter this magical contract of a bet thingy. Yes, that had to be it.

But there also had been the conversation they’d had before that handshake. It had been oddly… friendly almost. And their bet… it might be seen as a _friendly_ competition as well. And they had never had _that_ ever before. No, being _‘friendly’_ wasn’t their kind of thing. Never had been. They were mean to each other and their competitions were fierce and bloody and dead serious. Yes. So, what was it that had changed between them suddenly? But no, maybe Harry didn’t want to think about that. It would lead him nowhere he wanted to go.

The tingling sensation was slowly dying down now, but Harry’s face still felt flushed, he felt hot all over. That really had been very embarrassing and awkward.

But now Harry had to concentrate on how to ‘retaliate’, hadn’t he? Yes, _had to_ really. After all, it seemed like he had entered some kind of magical cont est here . And how do they say…? ‘Go big or go home’? Yes. A nd Harry knew just the right accessory to decorate their room with. _The_ room, Harry reminded himself. It was _‘the’_ room and not _‘theirs’_. And yes, he was gonna ‘Go big’, for sure.


	11. Bombarda

"It's always around me, all this noise, but

Not really as loud as the voice saying  
'Let it happen, let it happen (It's gonna feel so good)  
Just let it happen, let it happen'

All this running around  
Trying to cover my shadow  
An ocean growing inside  
All the others seem shallow  
All this running around  
Bearing down on my shoulders  
I can hear an alarm  
Must be morning

 I heard about a whirlwind that's coming 'round  
It's gonna carry off all that isn't bound, and  
When it happens, when it happens (I'm gonna be holding on)  
So let it happen, let it happen

All this running around  
I can't fight it much longer  
Something's trying to get out  
And it's never been closer  
If my ticker fails  
Make up some other story  
But if I never come back  
Tell my mother I'm sorry

Will not vanish, you will not scare me  
Try to get through it, try to push through it  
You were not thinking that I will not do it  
They be lovin' someone and I'm another story  
Take the next ticket, get the next train  
Why would I do it?  
Anyone'd think that

...

Maybe I was ready all along  
Oh baby, I was ready all along  
Maybe all I wanted was the sound of a memory  
I was ready all along..."

 

["Let it happen" Tame Impala](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pFptt7Cargc)

* * *

Draco:

They had both gone back to work after that awkward lunch break, sneaking out of the room without sparking a new conversation and / or causing another confrontation they both seemingly did not wish to have at that moment.

Draco found himself to be even more inattentive at work after that, then he had been before. He was still trying to figure out in his mind, what had just happened when he and Potter had shaken hands in the old classroom.

This tingling feeling that had spreading through his body and those other odd symptoms, that had all been very unusual. Draco had never felt anything like it before, but he’d instantly know that this had been caused - in one way or another - by magic. It had not come from him, this magic, nor from Potter directly. Potter’s magic felt different then what Draco had felt in that moment. The question was now what or who exactly had caused this, what ever it was, to what end and what it all would mean for Draco. He’d had a few guesses at first, but they had turned out to make very little sense, since Potter had looked just as surprised and shocked as Draco had felt. So, back to the start it was now.

That tingling sensation had not be the only symptom and on its own it would have been a very unspecific a symptom. But there had also been this….this… Let’s just say that there had been that strangely ‘friendly’ conversation they’d had before that, which most likely had been a symptom as well, because they _never_ had those. That had been a ridiculously odd thing indeed. They did _not_ have ‘friendly ‘ conversations if they could help it.

'Oh, but they did _now_!’, a small voice in his head taunted. Draco scowled.

Yes, yes, but it surely meant nothing. It didn’t mean anything at all. Just another pesky symptom that hinted at the doom Draco was sure was approaching. Back to the topic.

Then there of course also had been the heat spreading through Draco’s body – another rather unspecific symptom. And lastly the nerve wrecking sensation of the world tilting in strange ways that it just wasn’t supposed to tilt, like everything was rearranging itself right before his eyes and reality was changing. _That_ was a much more specific symptom and now that he thought about it it was akin to something one might feel when being hit with a dark curse or when being under the influence of a mind altering potion. Dark arts, certainly. And yet… It did _not_ fit. No, it did not fit at all, really. It had not felt dark, had not had the tang of dark magic to it, quite the contrary really. And Draco was very sensitive to it after all that time... Then again, maybe that was part of the magic, concealing it’s nature.

It had been dizzying and kind of unsettling in a way, all of that, powerful and overwhelming, but not… Draco had no words for it, he admitted to himself then. But he had the very distinct feeling that what ever it was that had happened to them in that moment, it had not been done to them with an intention to cause harm, to hurt or enslave. It had felt like the world had been righted, for some reason. This should make all his alarm bells ring, Draco knew that and yet he had felt so… so soothed. He’d felt so content and calmed after they’d touched. Just like he had before. It had happened before, yes. Same symptom, other situation, but yes, it had happened before. So perhaps this was something… Huh. Touching… Touching Harry Potter seemed to be a thing now.

 

Draco avoided further thought about that.

His injuries still hurt. They’d been much more severe than Potter knew. Draco had had scratches, bruises and cuts on both his hips, on the waist and some on his legs. Several ribs were fractured. Lydia had done a thorough job with this. Sure he all in all probably deserved it, but he doubted that he could take such treatment from Lydia of all people for much longer without some sort of response that would get him into even more trouble then he already was in. The thing was, that woman did not actually seem to have a very good reason to hurt him other than simply enjoying to hurt people that was. Had she had a ‘real reason’, she would have told him by now. But she hadn’t. And although Draco had this urge to receive some form of punishment for the things he’d done during the war, he couldn’t help but feel a bit angry at her now. After all, hurting someone just for the fun of hurting… Let’s just say, she would have made a fine Death Eater.

Draco would probably take a beating or a thorough hexing from Potter without complaint.

Better not to linger on thoughts like that though.

Draco was rather well versed with healing magic, had considered to become a healer for a while even. Well, he’d more like… dreamed about it. It had already been too late at that point for that to ever be a valid option for him, what with the Dark Mark adorning his flesh. And now, no one would ever again consider offering him a job or an apprenticeship that wasn’t at least a bit shady. And as for his chances to work in health care… There simply were no healers who were not only convicted war criminals, but also publicly known Death Eaters.

But still, he knew his healing spells, not just from theory either, but from practical use. He’d had a lot of need for that kind of knowledge, had needed them both for his own and other peoples survival. And survival must, yes? Show must go on. But he was not going to think of that now. He was not.

So, he had been able to heal or at least take the edge off of most of the injures he’d suffered from his unfortunate ‘accident’. Most of the cuts had been shallow enough and the bruised hadn’t been too bad either. Fixing stuff like that was only problematic for him now, because it took so much force to get his wand to comply. He’d been lucky that the restrictions on it had allowed him to cast those healing spells at all, he knew that, but it still had frustrated him. It had been one hell of a struggle to be honest. Even the simplest of spells now needed for him to invest so much more magical power into them, that using his wand outside of working hours (which apparently did not include the breaks), left him properly drained. And anything that wasn’t specifically used to rebuild the castle was even more exhausting to achieve. It felt a bit like those cursed restrictive spells were sentient. And very much hated him. They did not only keep him from casting anything that could be seen as ‘questionable’, those restrictive spells. No, they seem to always judge his intention first (for every little spell), which Draco had not been aware was legal (secretly doubted it to be honest) because of the intrusion it meant, and to achieve that, those spells ate up so much of his magic… Draco had to put almost double the amount of magic then he usually would have into the spells he needed for work and at least thrice the amount for anything else. To feed the wretched restrictive spells and wasn’t that kind of how his whole life had been like? Ironic, really.

Working with his wand  these days  was exhausting in a way that Draco had never experienced before. It  was worse  even then having to use his mothers wand  and that had been a painful experience for it’s very own torturous reasons . Only a little better then having no wand at all.

They had told him that it would  be  easiest for him to do transfigurations and charms he needed for his work here in the castle, but even then Draco still felt like he was holding some useless stick instead of a wand in his hand, trying to will it to do more then it was inherently capable of.

However, he’d worked things out this time. He’d succeed in setting his broken bones, even though he could not make them grow back together. For them to properly mend it would either take time or specialized potions. Or more powerful, far more complicated spells, which he was unable to cast with this wand. ‘Episkey’ might have fixed a broken nose or a split lip, but it did shit for cracked ribs. So that was why he still had to move cautiously.

“Will you listen for once! You did it wrong again, Malfoy!”, Lydia yelled, successfully bringing Draco back to the present.

‘You told me which spell to use and I cast it successfully, applying it precisely where you said I should. The result is impeccable. So what exactly was it I did do wrong?’, Draco was about to ask, but refrained from it in the last second, trying to keep the scowl off his face too, for the benefit of his remaining unbroken bones mostly. He just looked at her instead, waiting for her to rant and scream and shout on or what ever, or maybe even explain what the bloody hell she was talking about.

“It looks all crooked and uneven now, not at all as smooth and even as it was supposed to be. So what did you do to it? I didn’t hear you say any incantation either.”, Lydia hissed, shooting him furious glares. This of course was bullshit, the result was exactly what they had wanted. He might not have said the incantation out loud (He usually tried to say as little as possible in her presence.), but that wasn’t what this was about.

He had forgotten how unusual it was for a complicated spell like that to take

“I used the spell you told me to apply non-verbally. I do not know what went wrong.”, Draco said in an as calm voice as he could muster. He didn’t see a fault in his work, but he didn’t think there really was one either. To be honest, he was a bit surprise the spell had even taken. Non-verbal spells were even harder to do with the restriction spells on his wand, then out loud spoken ones.

Lydia was just trying to provoke him. As usual. And Draco was not going do what she wanted him to do and lose his cool. He was going to stay polite.

“Did I allow you to do a non - verbal spell? No, I did not! Do it again!”, Lydia yelled and with a flick of her and, send a _‘_ _B_ _ombarda’_ to the area Draco had worked on, causing the stone wall to explode with a deafening bang. Draco was lucky enough to quickly enough shield his eyes at least, before the blow hit him with it’s full force, rubble hitting his body as well as the shock wave. Lydia of course stood far enough from the explosion to stay unharmed, a shield charm firmly in place as well.

Draco was bleeding from multiple cuts and his clothing was a bit damaged. He felt dizzy and it hurt, but he was not going to let her see his pain. She watched him curiously for a moment. But he would not give her that gratification to see him break. He was going to fix the wall, get on with his work, ignore the damage done to his body. And that was what he did.

Lydia left the room soon after.

With a few flicks and swishes of his wand and mumbles words, Draco patched up his clothing and healed the most obvious open wounds on his body. It still hurt. But Draco knew pain. He could take it.

 

Harry: 

Harry did his work, while thinking about how he’d best get proper retaliation on Malfoy for the Slytherin crest the other boy had put on the wall in the old classroom, when he suddenly felt a sharp pang in his guts. He doubled over in pain, panting. His head ached, he felt dizzy and his hands were trembling. He leaned against the wall beside him, trying to catch his breath. After a view moments the pain slowly receded, leaving only a dull ache behind.

What was that? What did just happen to him? Nobody was here beside himself. He had not been hit by anything, no spell or curse, no rubble from the ruin. This shouldn’t have happened.

Harry took a few careful steps towards the door of the room he’d been working on, unsure if the pain would return as soon as he’d move. It did not and yet, he had a feeling that something was awfully wrong. No, he _knew_ that something was wrong, although he couldn’t say how he knew or what it was that was so utterly wrong. But Harry did not doubt his intuition, it had been a reliable, invaluable guide all through his life, had helped him a great deal in the past. So yes, something was indeed wrong. He could feel it in the very depths of his being.

Someone was hurt. Yes, that was it. Someone was hurt and needed help. There was no point in attempting to find out how Harry came to that knowledge, because help needed to be given _now_. And Harry very much doubted anybody else was aware of this, so he would have to be the person to give said help.

He exhaled slowly and closed his eyes, trying to shake the feeling off dizziness and slight nausea. It was then that he felt a pull from his left and instinctively knew tat that was the direction he had to go to get to the person in need. He opened his eyes and without hesitation he followed the magical pull he was feeling.

The third shift was over just about now and the corridors were beginning to fill with more and more people again, but a reflexively cast disillusionment charm (in lieu of his invisibility cloak), allowed Harry to manoeuvre through the crowd without being noticed.

He could feel the pull inside of him growing stronger and stronger and he didn’t really noticed which way he was going any more, just blindly followed the pulling sensation, becoming more and more frantic as he rushed through the corridors. He was all but out of breath when he came to a slightly ajar standing door and forcefully pushed it open without much of a thought.

Inside Malfoy sat on the floor, leaning heavily against the wall. His long pale hair was only barely held together any more, strands of it having become lose and hanging into his face now. He was dirty and looked like he was deep in thought, not showing any signs of having heard any of the noise Harry had made.

Harry cancelled his disillusionment charm standing there in the open door, trembling with what he thought must be rage he yelled with a hoarse voice:

“What did you do, Malfoy?” He sounded almost scared.

The blonde’s head snapped around at the sound of Harry’s booming voice. He looked straight up at Harry with a look of terror in his eyes for only a second, before he visibly relaxing and then choked out:

“I did...”, he gulped and winced, appearing to be a bit out of breath as he finished his sentence. “Nothing.”

Where were they? Where was the person Malfoy had hurt? Harry franticly looked around the room, but there was no one else there other then Malfoy. And Harry himself of course, but he was fine. So, where had Malfoy hidden them? Pictures of tortured bodies came rushing to the forefront of his mind, but Harry forcefully pushed them away. Now was not the time.

Harry’s eyes were fixed on the Slytherin once more, narrowing dangerously as he took a few steps towards the blonde.

“I will not ask again, Malfoy. Where are they? Where’s the person you’ve hurt? Who did you harm this time?”, he spat.

Malfoy had turned his head, looking back down to the floor again and only slightly shook his head now. He didn’t even look at him, the coward! Harry was furious.

And then an awful noise came from the Slytherin. He was laughing. Laughing! But it did not really sound like laughter at all. It was more like.. like… It was a breathless, wheezing sound, mirthless, hopeless. A sound of surrender, of defeat. And then the false laughing turned into dry sobs and choking noises. This was all so wrong. So very, very wrong. He’d gotten it all wrong. None of this was how it was supposed to be.

Harry really look at Malfoy then. The blonde was deathly pale, even more so then before, making the dark shadows surrounding his eyes look even darker then before. There was something strange about the way he was holding himself. Malfoy still leaned heavily against the wall, almost like it was the only thing that was keeping him upright and he was carefully not moving, except his chest, which was heaving with irregular breath… And there was no one else in the room with them. Suddenly everything became very clear to Harry. Malfoy was the one who was hurt.

And Harry was just standing there, staring at the other boy.

The Slytherin was slowly tilting his head back, letting it slump against wall, baring his sensitive neck to Harry, a tired smile on his lips. Harry had never seen Malfoy smile before and he realized that he had never wanted to see him smile like this. It was not just a sad smile, it was a defeated, apologetic one. A smile one gave as a last comfort to the living, before one entered the realm of the dead. Harry did not quite understand why this sight had that connotation for him, but it did. And he was utterly horrified with it.

“You are hurt.”, Harry whispered tonelessly, looking into Malfoy’s tired eyes.

“I am hurt.”, the blonde rasped. There was a finality to his words that made Harry want to scream his denial. It felt like they were tearing at Harry’s very soul, those unholy words. And for a second there, he thought that he’d seen tears gathering in the other’s eyes, but Malfoy slowly dropped his head then with a sigh.

'What am I gonna do now? What the hell am I supposed to do?', Harry asked himself, feeling more panicked then he had any right to. He could not leave an injured person like this, even if said person was Draco Malfoy, his long time adversary. No, he had to help, there was no doubt about it. It was in Harry’s nature to help.

“We’re going to the infirmary.”, Harry said determinedly, but as soon as he had spoken those words, the blonde started to shake his head so violently, that Harry was afraid he was going to hurt himself even more.

“No. I’m not going there.”, the Slytherin rasped, no less determined than Harry was. Harry could of course drag him there, stun him, what ever. But no, he was not gonna do that against his will, drag him to the infirmary. To be honest, Harry would like to avoid going there always.

“Can you walk?”Malfoy sighed. It was then that Harry noticed that there was blood in the boys mouth.

“I could try. But I won’t go to the infirmary.”, the blonde said quietly, with what sounded like his last breath.

“We’re not going there. Get up.”, Harry replied curtly and took a few more steps towards the other, who now shakily tried to get up from the ground, his face a mask of pain, breath faltering.Malfoy managed to get himself into a standing position, but his legs looked so awfully weak that Harry instinctively stepped closer and slung his arm around Malfoy’s back to hold the Slytherin up right against him. A powerful sense of calmness washed over Harry, but there was no time to wonder about that, because Malfoy needed more help to keep standing up then Harry hadanticipated and he was much heavier then he looked.

“We can’t do it like this. I’m putting a _‘_ _F_ _eather-light charm’_ on you and then levitate you.”, Harry said through from exertion gritted teeth.

“I’m walking.”, Malfoy grit out.

“But you’re not. I’m gonna have to drag you all the way and you’re a lot heavier then I expected.”, Harry snapped, heaving.

“Leave me then.”, came a breathless response from the blonde.

“I’m not fucking leaving you, Malfoy! So, swallow your damn pride and let me do what I have to.” And before the Slytherin could react, Harry had pulled his wand, cast the _‘_ _F_ _eather-light charm’_ first, then a mild sleeping spell, before finally casting a levitation spell to keep Malfoy’s limp body from slipping from his grip around his waist. Yeah, Harry felt pretty Slytherin today.

Lastly he put a disillusionment charm over himself and Malfoy too, before starting to make his way back up to their room with the blonde’s body floating in the air beside him.

 

Draco: 

Draco groaned as he woke from the magically induced sleep he’d been put under by none other then Harry-bloody-golden-boy-Potter, and opened his eyes. Everything hurt.

There were bright green eyes hovering right above him and Draco almost choked on nothing as he realized that it was indeed Potter who was kneeling beside him now, looked worriedly down at him.

“Keep your tongue please. I would miss so the snide remarks and the endless bickering and taunting I get from having you around.”, Potter said sarcastically and moved to the side.

By the looks of it, Draco was back in the old classroom they shared with each other. This was decidedly _not_ the hospital wing and he couldn’t help but feelgrateful that Potter hadn’t dragged him down there against his will although he could have.

Draco tried to sit up once, but it hurt so badly, that he had to accept that was not an option for him in that moment. He felt vulnerable lying there broken, Potter seeing him like that.

Potters face came back in sight again.

“What do you need?”, the raven haired boy asked gruffly. Draco was confused.

“What?”, he croaked. What did he mean?

“I mean that I’m gonna fetch you what you need to heal. I don’t know much about healing magic though, so you’ll have to tell me what exactly I’ll have to get you. Got it now?”, Potter said in an annoyed tone, but Draco could see worry in his eyes. Which was more then a bit unexpected, because why would Potter worry about Draco’s well being? ‘Saviour-complex’, of course. That must be it. He cares for every living being. It’s a Gryffindor thing. Draco’s first reaction was to feel humiliated and wanting to reject the offer. He did not need the pity nor did he want stupid golden-boy’s help. But well, there wasn’t much of a choice here, was there. Swallow your pride or die, yeah? It surprised Draco a bit to find that he did not want to die exactly.

Well the least he could do was making Potter miserable too, he thought to himself.

“They’re not easy to get, the potions I’d need. You’d have to break into the hospital wing. Steal them.”, Draco whispered breathlessly, grimacing. It was getting harder and harder to breath and the pain was overwhelming. “Just leave me. It’ll heal in time.”, Draco added tiredly. He knew it was a lie. His lungs were filling with blood and his other organs… the broken bones… No idea how he’d managed to get up from the floor when Potter had told him to.

“Which is exactly what I‘ve planned to do, so if you’d _please_ ….”, Potter took a deep breath, pinched the bridge of his nose and then yelled: _“..._ have the kindness to just tell me the fuck what I need to steal!” If Draco hadn’t been so stunned from this odd performance and physically so weak, he would have laughed. But as it was, he simply complied and listed the potions he needed.

“Thanks.”, Potter said, rubbing his eyes exhaustedly, before getting up and vanishing. Draco closed his eyes.


	12. Healing Potions

"Let me be absolutely clear  
This is mine but I'll let you in  
Gather round take a part of it, of me, of me  
A wasted life seems to mean the most  
But these seconds are valuable  
Breathe in change or let it go and breathe  
  
Emergency, help  
Emergency, help  
Emergency  
  
The medicine is killing me  
I wont lay down, I wont give in  
The medicine is killing me  
some pieces have gone missing  
  
Oh, I'll give you something to think about  
Oh, I'll give you something to think about

 Please sign on the dotted line

Those thoughts are not required  
But you're all fucking vampires to me, to me  
Emergency, help  
Emergency  
  
The medicine is killing me  
I won't lay down, I won't give in  
The medicine is killing me  
Some pieces have gone missing  
  
Oh, I'll give you something to think about  
Oh, I'll give you something to think about  
Oh, I'll give you something to think about  
Oh yeah, I'll give you something to think about  
Yeah-ooh  
  
The medicine is killing me  
I won't lay down I won't give in  
The medicine is killing me  
Some pieces have gone missing  
Some pieces have gone missing  
Some pieces have gone missing  
The medicine is killing me  
I won't lay down I won't give in  
The medicine is killing me  
Some pieces have gone missing  
Oh hey, I'll give you something to think about  
The medicine is killing me  
I'll give you something to think about  
Some pieces have gone missing"

["Emergency" by Nothing but Thieves](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fdh20aaMXWI)

* * *

Harry:

Harry loved his invisibility cloak. Like really, really loved it. It had saved his life countless times and was the only true family heirloom he owned. And now he’d used it to steal healing potions for Draco fucking Malfoy and he couldn’t help but feel guilty for that. He’d used his fathers cloak to help save a Death Eater. His parents would be horrified. Sirius would... and Remus and Tonks and… Oh god, this was bad. Because Malfoy wasn’t just a human being in pain, someone who needed help, he also was a very, very bad person. And yet, Harry couldn't stand the thought of letting him suffer. That was what Harry was arguing with himself about as he walked back to the old classroom, multiple vials, each containing a different potions, merrily tinkling in his pockets. Harry was _not_ worried about Malfoy. No, he really wasn’t worried. Who was he even kidding, the blonde was an arsehole of the highest order, who hadn’t done a good thing in his life. He was practically the devil.

Except for the times that he had. Saved Harry’s life for example. Lied to Bellatrix (who’d been is aunt), told her he… ‘couldn’t be sure’. Reminded his minions not to kill Harry too. But that wasn’t much, was it? It simply wasn’t enough, couldn’t make up for all of the bad things that he’d done. Nothing could. The blood and tears shed…

Malfoy had done his best to make the people around him feel inferior, miserable, small, had taken them down, down, down, as a child already. He had teased, taunted, insulted, harassed, humiliated, betrayed. No this wasn’t right. Someone like that... Harry shouldn’t be helping someone like that, _should not want to_. And yet, he did. Needed to. Harry felt sick justat the thought of having Malfoy left alone in that classroom in the condition he was currently in. He felt bad for not having immediately draggedhim to the infirmary. He could quite possibly die. Harry did not know enough about healing magic to be much of a help, but he knew a bit about injuriesand Malfoy hadn’t looked good. Harry hadn’t really taken a good look at the injuries themselves though, but he had a feeling it was quite bad. What a bloody fool he’d been to not even take a look, to not have made Malfoy get some proper help. Instead he had trusted him to know what he needed and went off to steal potions for him. With the help of his family heirloom. What a fool he’d been. This wasn't even his responsibility, truly none of his business. What a fool. He should have walked away, be rid of it. Be rid of bloody Malfoy. What a fool he was.

But Malfoy hadn’t wanted to go to the infirmary and Harry had bend to his wishes, which was a stupid, stupid thing to do, surely. The infirmary clearly would have been the best choice, to care for Malfoy. Easier for Harry too. But he understood the reluctance to go there. Although, if the sustained injuries were as serious as he had the nagging suspicion they were, those reservations shouldn’t matter, pride be damned and all, Harry should have taken him. He hadn’t though clearly in that moment (Malfoy would probably call it stupid Gryffindor recklessness) and now it was too late. The only thing that Harry could hope for now was that Malfoy knew more about healing magic then he did and that Harry would not end up with a dead body in his room. Not that anybody would rightly care if Malfoy died. Other then his parents perhaps. _Harry_ shouldn’t care. How many times had Malfoy tried to get him expelled, had called him and his friends unspeakable names, had insulted his parents, insulted everything about him really? He’d been the reasons for countless detentions, had bullied them all senseless, had told the press bullshit about them, had caused Harry’s ban from Quidditch… had dressed up as a dementor to scare him… countless hexes… tried to turn everybody against him with those petty badges… had crushed Harry’s nose beneath his heel, had tried to get Buckbeak killed, had almost killed Katie and Ron too, had lead Death Eaters into a school full of innocent children, had all but killed Dumbledore... That was not even counting what ever else cruel shit he’d undoubtedly done the past year and everything Harry did not know about.

Malfoy had caused so much harm. So, so much harm. How could Harry stand for helping someone like that? He felt torn.

Malfoy was a Death Eater. He bore the mark of the man who had murdered Harry’s parents, who had slaughtered countless others too, strangers, but friends and their families too. He had killed Harry in the end as well… Malfoy had supported the man who had done that. He had believed in all of that, the rightfulness of blood-supremacy, the rightfulness of threatening, torturing and killing to achieve a world that was ruled by a monster.

But… Harry also knew that Malfoy had realized at some point that what he had been doing, what he was supporting was wrong. Or at least not his kind of fun any more. He might not have made much of an effort to recompense for his wrong doings, had not defected and joined the other side either, but he had at least realized at some point that he was in fact not cut out for the life of a pet for Voldemort. What ever his morals, what ever his believes, Malfoy had realized that he made quite the shitty Death Eater in the end and that he did not have stomach for murdering people. Silver spoons and all of that. Pampered people very rarely had the necessary skills to handle the realities of life. Harry cringed a bit when he caught himself thinking like that.

But what ever else Harry’s opinion of Malfoy was, what ever else Malfoy was, Harry knew without a doubt that Draco Malfoy was not a killer. He had not killed Dumbledore, even when he had the opportunity and more then just one good reason to. Harry had realized in that moment atop the astronomy tower, that the pasty git might not have had as much of a choice in everything as Harry had previously thought he had. And that he might not have been as enthusiastic to become a killer as Harry had assumed.

It was very hard though to reconcile Malfoy’s never-ending stream of hateful words, the perverted ‘political’ opinions he’d so eagerly shared with the world on every possible occasion, with someone who’d been… well, _forced_ to go through with things he had been too young to fully understand. They were all still so young, Harry knew this. He himself had been so young still. _Was_ so young. But unlike others Harry had always had to shoulder things not exactly meant for children. He had grown used to it in a way, it was his normal. But someone like Malfoy… someone who had grown up sheltered from reality, spoiled rotten, fed lies… Malfoy had probably not know what hit him when he’d suddenly been expected to not only act like an adult but take on responsibilities like one as well. And he had been under duress. He had not had much of a choice. Not complying, not doing what he’d been told to do would have resulted in his and his parents death, that much Harry knew. And Malfoy had been only been a child himself. He had been a child. He had been scared.

 _Others had been scared too, had_ _had_ _as much to lose as Malfoy had and they had made better choices!_ Dumbledore would have helped him, had Malfoy just asked!

No, this, all of… All of _that_ just didn’t make up for Malfoy’s sins, it wasn't even a good explanation. He had done too much harm, had done so much wrong, had hurt people too much. There was no excuse for bad choices like the ones he had made. Harry should know. Everybody had to live with the consequences of their choices. No exceptions. Malfoy had had it coming. He had _not_ been a helpless victim.

‘ _You_ have defended him and his mother in the trials!’, a quite voice in his head whispered. Harry furiously shook his head to dispel the thought and scowled into the empty corridor.

He had only done what’s right! He hadn’t done it because he thought that they were so innocent, Malfoy and his mother. He had only done the bare minimum. He knew that Hermione and Ron probably would never truly understand why he thought he had to do it, most likely thought that he was ‘too kind for his own good’ or something along the line of that, but Harry knew that it had been the right thing to do, to tell the truth. He hadn’t exactly talked to them about it, having had been at Hogwarts already at that point, but he knew. Most people wouldn’t understand, but that was alright. They judged him anyway, what ever he chose to do. Could as well be the right thing then, couldn’t it?

They probably all thought he just was a very good, far too forgiving person or that he wanted to play the hero some more, was suffering from that blasted ‘saving people thing’ everybody was so sure he had going on or something. But it wasn’t like that at all. In truth, Harry had not forgiven or forgotten anything. Making a statement about one specific thing that had happened did not mean that he thought everything else Narcissa and Draco Malfoy had done during the war should was okay and should be forgiven. Absolutely not, no, but it had been right for Harry to pay them back for saving his life by telling the world about it.

So he had told the truth, had told them about how Narcissa Malfoy had lied to Voldemort. That it had been to save her own son… Harry wasn’t sure if he had mentioned that. It had been a stressful time and his memories were a bit hazy. It didn’t matter anyway. She had lied to Voldemort, which could very well be described as very foolish, absolutely reckless, utterly stupid or alternatively very, very brave. He had told the Wizengamot that he owed her his life so they could judge. He had done the same for her son. That had been… Harry did not like to think about it.

He had told what had happened and had the Wizengamot sentenced them all to an eternity in Azkaban, had they sentenced them to receive the kiss even (Harry shuddered at that thought), that would have been right. Not that he had much faith in the Ministry, but it would have been none of his business or concern in any way any more. However, it would have only been right and fair as long as the Wizengamot had the most significant information. And Harry had not ‘defended’ them exactly, he had only corrected the accusations a bit. He had given them some more information, had told the truth and nothing but the truth. Yeah. And it hadn't been _his_ place to judge. _He_ had just given a statement. Bad luck that it had turned out to be or interpreted to be in their defence.

Draco Malfoy still was an evil prick and always would be. (Harry had no doubt about that.) He deserved what ever he was getting. Harry should _not_ interfere with that (like he was doing now). People were angry. Understandably. Harry was angry himself sometimes. Although most of the time he was far too tired for that, if he was being honest.

Malfoy had not been sentenced to a life in Azkaban after all, nor to house arrest it appeared, his wand had not been snapped either, but given back to him by the Ministry (who had admittedly gotten it from Harry) and he had not been exiled either. Instead he had been allowed back to Hogwarts, the school he had helped to ruin. How was that fair? It really was no wonder people were so angry. (And surprised. Were they all as surprised as Harry had been? Not reading the prophet did have its disadvantages after all it appeared.) But it had not been Harry’s place to judge. It had been the Wizengamot’s choice and Harry had no interest in bothering himself with anything concerning Malfoy anyway. More then he had to that was. It wasn’t like he actually _cared_.

What ever. What was important now was that Harry was in the very uncomfortable situation of having Draco Malfoy lying rather severely injured (Harry just knew it was bad!) in their shared room (where he had previously carried the bloke to), on Harry’s mattress no less (where he had lain him down). (What, was he supposed to have put him on the dusty floor?) And Harry _had_ used his dad’s invisibility cloak to steal those potions (right from under Madam Pomfrey’s ever watchful hawk eyes), Malfoy had said he would need. Harry considered his situation once more then and realized that he still very well could chuck the potion vials out of the window somewhere along the way and forget he’d ever thought of helping the git. This thought made him only marginally feel better. There was a bit of a shortage on potions and potions ingredients so briefly after the war. It would be such a waste.

Malfoy wouldn’t deserve any better of course, then to be left there to suffer. He deserved no less then being hurt like those whom he had hurt, being in pain like those whom he had tortured on his precious Master’s behalf, like Harry knew he had. Death even. He even deserved to die like all of those who had died because Malfoy had stood by and done nothing, died because Malfoy had failed to chose the right side. He deserved death for having supported Voldemort.

Or maybe not. No, death wouldn’t be nearly enough punishment for someone like Draco Malfoy, the coward.

Gods, and what was Harry doing? Bringing stolen healing potions to the Death Eater’s bedside to save his pompous arse. No, surely _not_!

‘You already have saved his life once...’, that nagging voice in his head whispered. It reminded him in a very unpleasantly way of Remus Lupin, if he were to be honest and that thought made Harry feel all kinds of sick.

Yes, he _had_ done that but that was… T hat had been … There had been _people_ around! He could not just have just let him die in those cursed flames ! How could he have done that and still have claimed to be the bloody ‘saviour’ afterwards ? And it hadn’t been because of who he was that Harry had turned back, but because Harry would have wanted to save _any_ human being from a death as gruesome as that. And he had indeed meant for Hermione and Ron to save the other two as well. It had not worked out quite like that and it was something that still haunted Harry. He could still smell the burning flesh sometimes. He shuddered and cold sweat broke out all over his body as he remembered the fiery tomb they had only very barely escaped. Most of them at least. Harry pushed back the memories as best as he could, but there was a niggling thought in the back of his mind that very urgently wanted to be acknowledged, but Harry wouldn’t let it. It meant nothing that Harry had went straight for Malfoy despite there having been two other boys in the same situation who as far as he knew had not been proper Death Eaters.

‘You have never cared for the title of being the world’s ‘saviour’. And if you remember, Ron and Hermione thought you more then just reckless for going back to save Malfoy and his friends from the inferno. It could have cost all three of your lives.’, that voice inside his mind said. Harry felt nauseous. It indeed could have cost not only his own life, but Ron’s and Hermione’s as well and yet, Harry hadn’t hesitated a second.

„I’m not one to let people die if I can save them!”, Harry wanted to shout.

Hermione and Ron didn’t _have_ to turn back like he had done. That had been their own damn choice. They had survived, they had survived, Harry reminded himself and tried to calm his breath. He was going crazy – clearly - talking to this voice inside his head as if it was someone other then himself thinking these things. Some small part of him at least. Some very, very small part.

‘There you go. Here’s your answer. You are saving him - once again - because you are not someone to deny anyone help.’, the voice said in a soothing tone. Harry felt uneasy.

Yeah, right. Thanks. This helped so much.

‘Nobody said this was the truth. It most certainly could be _a_ _n_ answer. There are countless others that – theoretically at least - would ‘fit the bill’ as one would say, but… You know that this is not exactly it, do you not?’, the voice said sympathetically.

Shut up! You know nothing! Nothing at all.

What was so much worse (now that he thought about it) then this saving Malfoy’s life business was that Harry had been nice to him. He had been kind, friendly even at times. They had had that strangely almost-friendly-conversation and even before that Harry had held Malfoy in his arms after his nightmare, had done his best to soothed him… had wanted to care for him, had worried, had… And he had been held in return after his own nightmare the night after that and he had… He had _enjoyed_ all of that. To his shame he had been unable to not enjoyed the closeness. Part of him had very much craved it, needed it. Above all, this was how Harry had betrayed his friends and his dead family. He had... with the enemy.

He felt so ashamed.

 

His inner battle ended when he arrived at the old classroom. He sighed deeply and then entered the room, closing the door behind him. Malfoy still lay on Harry’s lumpy mattress, looking almost ghostly pale. He did not seem to have heard Harry enter the room at all and even when Harry shrugged off his invisibility cloak and stepped closer to him, there was very little reaction. He turned his head a bit towards Harry and shifted on the mattress with a pained expression, getting even paler as he did so. His eyelids fluttered for a moment as if it was only with great effort that he kept his disconcertingly silvery eyes open. Harry gulped, looked away for a second and then kneeled down beside the mattress. Malfoy shifted again, unsuccessfully trying to prop himself up on his elbows.

This was uncomfortable, watching Malfoy like this. Pitiful. Harry cleared his throat and asked with slightly hoarse voice:

“Is there a chronological order in which I should make you choke on these?”

Harry was thoroughly annoyed with himself for having decided to to give those potions to Malfoy, but he fished them out of his pockets anyway, held them up so the git could see them, before setting them down on the floor beside Malfoy’s head.

Malfoy barely looked at him and somehow that made Harry even angrier. Ungrateful bastard.

“No, just… hand them over.”, the pale boy whispered exhaustedly, trying to sit up again, but not managing. Harry rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt. And then helped the other boy sit up with an arm firmly wrapped around his shoulders, ignoring the pitiful, breathless noises he made and then unstopped the first vial with only one hand and held the orbicular vial to Malfoy’s lips.

The blonde looked at him like he had gone nuts (which to be honest, was the same conclusion Harry himself had come to), but complied anyway and let Harry feed him one potion after the other without complaint. The silence made Harry uncomfortable.

“I also brought you a light sleeping draught and a pain killer.”, Harry said casually as he fed the blonde the second last potion. “Too proud to ask for it, huh?”, Harry added with something between a smirk and a sneer. Just once he would have the last word.

Malfoy blanched at his words (which Harry had thought not possible with how pale he already was) and all but choked on that second last potion.

“Don’t need ‘em! I...I...Don’t give me those! _Please_!”, the pale boy coughed and stuttered. There was blood in his lips, running down his chin. Harry barely noticed how peculiar the word ‘please’ sounded falling from Malfoy’s lips. He felt himself blanch, his heart beating hard against his ribcage with sudden overwhelming panic.

“You already drank the pain killer.”, Harry said with wild eyes, tying to understand what was happening.

“No! Fuck… No! You… What have you _done_?”, Malfoy breathed, fear clear in his feverish looking eyes.

“Shit! Shit, did I poison you? Fuck...what do I do?”, Harry cried in shock and fear. Had he killed Malfoy now? He almost dropped Malfoy whom he still held up right with an arm around his shoulders. Harry lay him down then and looked frantically around the room, looking at the vials too and pawed at his pockets in search of his wand.

“Kill me, please! Just kill me before I… Fuck! Fuck, no! I can’t… I…”, Malfoy babbled, looking at him only briefly, before blushing slightly and looking away biting his lips harshly. Harry was confused.

“So, you are not dying?” Malfoy refused to look at him and just continued to bite his lip, screwing up his face, before suddenly blurting out:

“No, Potter, I’m not fucking dying! I just… I’m… I have a bad… reaction to… pain killers.” It was like he was trying to sound annoyed or angry - No, he _did_ sound annoyed and angry. - but somehow everything he did just made it all the more clear how truly terrified… and embarrassed he was. Strange.

“Some kind of allergic reaction, bad side effect? Is it bad? What… What is it?”, Harry asked warily.

Malfoy shifted on the mattress, tried to sit up once more, but the potions had not yet taken full effect it appeared and he only managed to toss around a bit. Rather pitifully if Harry was being honest.

“Give me the sleeping draught.”, Malfoy blurted, sounding breathless. “Please Potter, just... give me the sleeping draught.”, he begged. And that was such a weird thing to hear from the Slytherin, that Harry immediately decided not to.

“What? Why? What happens to you if I don’t?”, Harry asked calmly, carefully observing the blondes reaction to his words. Malfoy gulped heavily and his eyes became even wider, while his bottom lip started to quiver as soon as his teeth stopped to bite it. He closed his eyes and bit his lip again so hard Harry thought he must be drawing blood. Malfoy opened his mercury eyes after a brief moment of trying to breath calmly. He was truly terrified, Harry realized.

But Harry _needed_ to know why that was. Judging from his reaction Malfoy was not in any danger, but was more… embarrassed or something.

“Tell me!”, Harry demanded. “Tell me, Malfoy!” He felt a bit feverish.

“That’s just it. I _will_! I will.”, Malfoy blurted out, then closed his eyes again, bit his lips and swallowed again and again. Sweat was running down his face. Harry stared at him uncomprehending.

“I don’t get it. You will what?”, Harry asked, still confused.

“What… tell… what… What ever you ask me.” Malfoy looked like he was almost choking on his words, breathing ragged. What Malfoy was implying - if Harry interpreted his cryptic words right - was absolutely _nuts_.

“This isn’t Veritaserum, Malfoy. You’ll be a bit… funny or something… more relaxed perhaps, but you won’t…“, Harry started to explain, feeling out of sort, but then somehow yelled: “It _isn’t Veritaserum_ you spoiled little brat!”

Yeah, he just lost it. And he didn’t even know why or where those exact words had come from. He certainly felt a bit angry perhaps or maybe it was more because of the terrified look on Malfoy’s greyish face and those disconcerting eyes. Or it was because he’d had Harry thinking for a moment there that he had accidentally poisoned the bastard. Or maybe Harry just couldn’t take the winging any longer. Or… What ever. He’d lost his temper and had snapped at a terrified, injured boy who was supposed to be his nemesis. Gods, this was all so fucked up and Harry didn’t know what to do with this… this warped reality that was just so… So frustrating!

“You don’t get it, do you Potter?!”, Malfoy tried to yell back, but it sounded more like some animalistically growled words in between yelps, gasps and groans. It was quite terrifying. “I won’t be able to resist… much longer... talking and telling… _revealing_.” Harry stared. Malfoy tried to breath and furiously bit his lips again, before blurting out: “I can only take - Fuck! - certain kinds – special - pain killers. Hard to come by... rare ingredients… You have me now-” Malfoy seemed to harshly bite his tongue, but it didn’t help for long. Harry looked on with wide eyes, comprehension slowly dawning on him. “- utterly defenceless and all I wanna do… _is fucking die_! You should have left me there. Internal bleeding-” Malfoy chewed on his tongue again, blood running down his chin and his too pale cheeks. Harry was horrified. “- would have done the job. Slowly, but surely. Painful… Don’t care. Oh, fu-… Now _look_ at what you’ve done! Is this what you wanted? Is this… Do you want me to… Now give me that damn sleeping draught or I swear to all that is holy - even and if it’s the last thing I’ll do before I die - I _will_ _kill_ _you_!” Shockingly those all of words seemed to escape the blonde’s lips without his consent and all Harry could do was to sit there and stare at Malfoy in utter disbelieve. “ _Now g_ _ive me the fucking potion,_ _you sadistic bastard_ _!_ ”, Malfoy yelped, before Harry could shake his parallelization and react to what he’d said.

With wide eyes and trembling hands Harry reached for that last vial, fumbled out the stopper and set it to Malfoy’s bloodied lips.

Malfoy gulped down the sleeping draught greedily, not even trying to lift his head but still somehow managed not to spill any of it. Harry was almost impressed.

Not even the strongest dose of Veritaserum could have made him admit that.

“Thank you. Could you please get me back to my own… sleeping place? Last request, I promise.”, the pale boy murmured tiredly and Harry was still far too shocked to do anything but mutely nod and comply with his wishes. So he fumbled out his wand and levitated Malfoy’s body over to where his travelling cloak still lay on the ground and set him down gently. Without thinking Harry hit the floorboards beneath Malfoy’s body with a strong cushioning charm even before the blonde’s eyes started to flutter and then shut, head lolling to the side. The sleeping draught seemed to take effect quickly. Harry didn’t notice himself wiping the blood from Malfoy’s face with his sleeve, before he staggered back to his own sleeping place, where he all but fell face down onto his bloodstained mattress. He could smell it all around him now, the blood and the sweet scent of sickness and frightful sweat, but also the faint scent of… of something that was distinctly, purely Draco Malfoy. Harry remembered this smell. Lavender and… and mh… rain and…

Harry felt dirty and sad and guilty, ashamed and… he was so exhausted that he knew that he wouldn’t be able to do anything other then to give in to sleep. Malfoy was sleeping. It was more the safest if would get for Harry to get some sleep as well and he was so, so… _so_ tired of… of everything. If he could just sleep… just sleep for a little while. Maybe things would make sense in the morning, maybe…

Harry half consciously picked up his wand from the floor next to where his head rested on the mattress and raisedthe usual silencing spells around himself before drifting into slumber. It was probably the spell he knew best, he could do it in his sleep.


	13. Holding Hands

"It weighs heavier on one's heart  
I could tell right from the start that  
Sweeter ones are hard to come across  
Well there is more than meets the eye  
Heart like yours is rare to find  
...  
  
Little things that make you smile  
Dancing barefoot in the dark  
If only I had strength to change your mind  
Oh for what you need  
You will not seek  
Choose your words before you speak  
Can you see that all you've got is time?  
  
Woah now  
Save yourself  
Oh won't you save yourself  
...  
Don't give in to that feeling  
Don't give in darkness and faith, yeah  
You should be safe, yeah, with someone else  
  
Tell your secrets to the night  
You do yours and I do mine  
So we won't have to keep them all inside  
Oh, for one so pure  
Can't be sold  
Don't let your feelings take control  
Hold on to the one thing he's begging for  
  
Woah now  
Save yourself  
Oh won't you save yourself  
...  
  
Woah are you gonna break?  
Yeah are you gonna break?..."

["Safe yourself" by Kaleo](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oCi0RHLrauU)

* * *

Draco:

A strangled scream tore through the lightlessness and soundlessness of Draco’s blissful unconsciousness, woke him with a sudden jolt of panic running through him like poison, cold sweat breaking out on his skin. Draco blinked his eyes open dizzily, a groan tearing from his throatas the remaining pain shot through his body. And there it was once more, that scream. Something deep inside of Draco vibrated with remembrance and profound recognition, swinging, chiming, shaking in tune with the pained noise that made his heart clench in his chest, but his sleep and potions addled brain needed a few more moments to catch up with what was happening.

Draco sat up shakily, looking around in confusion. Harry Potter lay thrashing, screaming and crying on his lumpy mattress. And everything fell back into place for Draco then, his mind cleared for a moment and he realized with dread that he would not be able to take another night like this. He could not possibly bear this again, this torture. No, not again, _anything_ but this agonizing noise!

It might not have been as intense as it had been the night before - _yet_ was the imperative word here– but it was no less torturous. And obviously there was no way in bloody hell that Draco would be able to go back to sleep now. However, that thought never even cross his mind.

Slightly trembling Draco got to his hands and knees then and started to very slowly crawl across the floor towards Potter. His body still hurt quite a bit, he was dizzy as fuck and the nausea (common side effect of the mix of potions he had ingested) was - to put it mildly – not bloody comfortable at all. But those terrified cries somehow hurt much more then any of his other pains, so Draco began to shake Potter by his shoulders as soon as he reached him to make him stop and it seemed to work too. The broken cries and screams were dying down suspiciously quickly, turning into quiet sobs instead until those stopped too. Potter’s body was trembling still, tears streaking his too pale face and his clothes were drenched in cold sweat (which honestly was pretty disgusting, but Draco barely noticed) and yet, the other boy seemed to have stayed asleep through it all nonetheless, leaving Draco looking down at Potter in utter puzzlement. That had been a lot easier then he had thought it would be. To make Potter shut up. And if Draco felt a twinge of disappointment at that, he took no note of it.

Draco sat back (looking very composed indeed, his appearance as meticulous as ever, not at all like he’d just been electrocuted and somehow through that experience had been enlightened... eyes wide, mouth gaping in shock and all of that...) and let go of Potter. But then, as soon as he had moved his hands away, the raven haired boy started to scream and cry again, rather pitifully too. Circe’s tits. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. Nothing concerning Harry Potter ever was after all, was it.

So Draco took Potter by his shoulders again and shook the git ruthlessly ( _almost_ ) and the boy fell silent again after what couldn’t have been more then half a moment. Which was very suspicious of course. Draco stared at him, disbelieve written all over his face. And then he noticed the odd tingling sensation in his fingertips, spreading through his whole body from there. Draco shuddered involuntarily, gulped heavily once and then forced himself to look down to his hands and what he saw there almost made him scream himself. Where his hands touched the other’s shoulders there seemed to be gathering small sparks (blue, white, red, yellow and orange in colour, eerily reminding him of fire). He could feel his eyes comically widen at the sight and although those sparks were by no means as unpleasant as sparks of fire (they so closely resembled) would have felt on his skin, the visual still was quite disturbing. Draco wrenched his hands away as if he truly had been burned, shuddering once more. But yet again violent sobs and whimpers broke out as soon as Draco’s hands had left Potter’s shoulders.

There were no other words for it, Draco gaped at Potter and before he ever knew what he was doing, the pained expression on the Gryffindor's face had persuaded Draco to touch his too bony shoulder with a few fingers of his right hand. And the boy immediately calmed down. Gods, this was bad. No doubt this was magic of some kind, Draco had already come to that conclusion, but… Why? Why did this happen? What was the use of this… this _thing_ ? And what the hell was Draco supposed to do now ? He couldn’t tell anyone, _obviously_. No. What was he gonna tell them anyway?

‘Er, sorry... Um, _excuse me_ , but I think someone other then _me_ (the only known Death Eater currently residing in this castle, with daily access to Potter, living in close quarters with him actually, holding a well known personal grudge...) cursed Potter and myself, so that he only calms down now when I _touch him_!’

Yes, well…. _No._ Just, no. Predictably that would not go over well. H e’ d better not tell anybody about this truly absurd development. Under different circumstances Draco most likely would have found this bizarre... _thing_ quite hilarious. Calming down Potter with his touch… But in that moment nothing could have been less amusing to him. It only served to make Draco feel more bitter about his situation.

There were those sparks again where his fingers had come to rest on Potter’s shoulder and the tingling in his body was still there as well, although the sensation seemed to fade now.

He was touching Potter. On the shoulder. The thought alone made Draco shudder in what he tried to convince himself was revulsion. It calmed Potter. What now?

He was truly fucked now, because apparently he could not let go of Potter without him starting to bawl his eyes out like a bloody child again. And no, Draco was not a hypocrite. He was _not_. But hell, Draco could not hold the ‘golden boy’s’ sodding hand throughout the night, while the prat enjoyed a decent night’s sleep. That just wasn’t on. Potter after all had made Draco beg for that damn sleeping draught and Malfoy’s did _not beg_. Not ever. It just wasn’t done. No, after that he should rather be thinking about how to retaliate for his humiliation (and thank the gods for that pesky side effect to have worn off), then to even consider for a second to calm the arrogant sod by allowing his touch to sooth him. He should be killing Potter in his sleep instead and not hold his stupid hand! Well, he was not gonna do that, obviously. He wasn’t a killer after all, he had proven that in front of an audience, so who was he kidding. Although if anybody deserved it... But Azkaban was said to be chilly even in the summer. So, no, not gonna do that, obviously.

Fuck, and he was so tired. His body ached.

His hand. He… Draco would…. He would just hold his freaking hand and get back to sleep himself. He would let Potter sort this thing out in the morning though, because that was not Draco’s job at all and if anybody could sort this mess out... No, Draco would just hold the idiots hand and get back to sleep. Now. Fuck, this was so weird.

Draco cringed in anticipation as he let go of Potters shoulder, who expectedly started to whimper and cry in reaction. Clenching his teeth Draco grabbed Potter’s warm hand, took it into his own, slightly cooler one, gripping it tightly. And with that it got quiet again. Fuck. It was not _his_ fault that the boy wouldn’t stop crying without him. Draco tried not to look at Potter’s face and not to notice how rough the skin of Potter’s hand felt against his own either, ignored how he could feel every single callous and how almost... pleasant the warm felt, tying to trick his addled brain into believing that this was an overall good experience. He did not look at their clasped hands, to think of how their hands would look together alone… his stomach was roiling.

A bit haltingly Draco lay down on the dirty floor, as far from Potter as he could without letting go of his too warm, too thin, too strong hand. Bloody hell. He never would have thought it would come to this. Not in a million years. What was the bastard doing to him? He groaned softly and turned his back to sleeping Potter, so he didn’t have to look at his fucking face, while holding his hand. He felt choked up.

He really wasn’t looking forward to the morning. In fact, it filled him with utter dread the whole bloody mess of it.

The tingling in his body was almost completely gone now and there had been no sparks left to see, last time he had accidentally looked. The freak show was over now. Salazar _please_ , let all of this be over soon.

Well, not quite. Not quite over yet. Draco was still holding Harry Potter’s hand.

And he would _not_ enjoy it, he reminded himself before falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admitt to having crippled the lyrics to this chapter's song. I am sorry for that, but it had to be done. (Oh and it does not quite fit the chapter, I know.) It is a lovely song though and you should listen to it.  
> And sorry for this being such a short chapter and for taking my sweet time with it too. The list of things I could apologize for is very long to be honest, but I don't want to waste any more time now, so I'll just tell you that I'm doing the best that I can and hope that's enough. ;-)


	14. Thievery

"Just to want it  
 And not to need it  
Makes me let it fall  
But then you let me in  
And I don't want it  
But you made me believe it  
So do I really? Do I really want?  
  
If you could you keep it together  
For a moment in time  
Then you'd see that I'd be  
Your excuse for a lover  
Your own mountain to climb  
You would see  
  
Woah  
I left my shoes under your bed  
but I left my body outside  
How did I make it back into this mess?  
I kept telling myself the temptations would do me in

  And they did

If you could you keep it together  
For a moment in time  
Then you'd see that I'd be  
Your excuse for a lover  
Your own mountain to climb  
  
You would see  
Woah  
If you could you keep it together  
For a moment in time  
  
Then you'd see that I'd be  
Your excuse for a lover  
  
Your own mountain to climb  
You would see  
Woah  
And I think I see this happening again  
From my lonely point of view  
See every time that I see you  
I know this will happen again  
If you could keep it together  
For a moment in time  
Then you'd see that I'd be  
Your excuse for a lover  
Your own mountain to climb  
You would see  
Woah"

["Let me in" by Snowmine](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jf0cr-0QvCY)

* * *

 

Harry:

“You’re lying on the dirty floor. Beside me.”, Harry commented almost drily as he woke, snatching his hand away swiftly from where he found it clasped in the other boy’s hand. He didn’t dare comment on that particular part of this early mornings surprise. His stomach was roiling and he felt a hot blush of embarrassment rising on his cheeks.

“I didn’t think you’d notice.”, Malfoy dead panned, letting his head drop back against the floor with a soft groan, closing his eyes for a moment, rubbing his tired looking face with his disconcertingly pale hands. Harry stared in disbelieve and a not so insignificant amount of outrage and irritation. He did not appreciate the sarcasm at all. He also had no idea how Malfoy had managed to convince himself that he had any right to look so annoyed when _he_ had been the creep who’d come over in the middle of the night to lie next to Harry while he'd been fast asleep and… and then had apparently held his hand like they were some kind of… like they were a bloody married couple or something. Harry shuddered.

Malfoy rolled over to his side then before slowly sitting up, looking at Harry with a deep scowl on his face.

“Yes, Potter, I was lying on the dirty floor next to you, holding your fucking hand.” he hissed unreasonably viscous. A pained expression appeared on the blondes face then and he raised his hands to hold his clearly still hurting head. Served him right, the prick. “And it’s too bloody early in the morning to argue, so if you were so kind to shut up now… And if you are unable to do so - like I assume you are - could you at least tone it down a bit? My head hurts like all hell from the bloody hangover I have as a result of the potion you administered to me _without my consent_.”, Malfoy said in a severely annoyed tone. Harry gaped at him in disbelieve before snapping:

“I’m not going to whisper just ‘cause you’re a sissy with a headache. _You_ failed to mention that you’re a bit sensitive to pain potions or what ever. It’s not _my_ fault you’re an idiot.” He desperately tried to convince himself that he didn’t feel guilty for giving Malfoy a potion he hadn’t asked for. It worked. “A headache won’t kill you. Now explain yourself you bloody creep!” Harry shuddered once more at the very uncomfortable thought of them having held hands and slept next to each other the entire night.

“I’ll have you know that I am in fact, _allergic_ to the potion you administered to me against my wishes!”, Malfoy snapped back, sitting up a bit straighter, wincing only slightly.

“Get to the point, Malfoy!”, Harry hissed, ignoring the accusation. They were so past that point. Malfoy had the audacity to roll his eyes and heaving an overly dramatic sigh on top of it, like Harry was ‘deliberately obtuse’ as Hermione would have called it. Which he definitely was _not_.

“It was the only thing that kept you from screaming both of our heads off, you imbecile.”, Malfoy said snidely, eyes narrowed maliciously. As if that explained everything, but somehow with those few words Harry’s anger simply evaporated. He felt hollow and exhausted and painfully lonely all of a sudden. Because it did. Explain everything. Harry knew in that moment without a doubt that what Malfoy had said was the truth, he could feel it resonating deeply within him, although he couldn’t quite tell why or how.

“Did you really think I actually _wanted_ to hold your hand the whole damn night through? Sleeping next to you on the dirty floorboards? I hate your fucking guts, Potter, and you hate mine. Nothing’s changed. Now, get over it already, it won’t bloody happen again because just for once in your miserable little life you’ll _learn_ from your stupid mistakes and remember to simply put a sodding silencing charm on yourself while you sleep. They are easy, Potter, really easy, even nitwits like you should be able to make them work. I'd even volunteer to teach you how to cast them properly! Just... for _once_ , Potter, _shut the fuck up_!” With every word that Malfoy spat Harry felt himself blanch a bit more. It hurt. His words bloody _hurt_ and Harry didn't know why. He felt dizzy with confusion and cold.

This was Malfoy as Harry knew him, it should have been a relief, comforting even, but something about this seemed so _off_. It felt wrong, everything felt wrong about this.

Harry gulped, looking down at his slightly trembling hands. A queasy feeling in his stomach he murmured:

“I did. I _did_ cast a silencing charm.” Malfoy’s derisive snort was all he got in reply for a moment. Harry didn’t dare look at him. “Right. You did it _wrong_ then, because -guess what- it didn’t fucking work!”, Malfoy sneered and having siad that he got up from the ground, swaying a bit on his feet at first and holding his head once more, his face a blank mask, before steadying himself and walking away.

Harry watched from the corners of his eyes as the blonde gathered some things and made his way to the bathroom presumably.

 

Draco: 

That could have gone… That could have gone much, much worse. No, it _should_ have gone… It actually- It actually should have ended in a fight, flying hexes and curses or even fists and such, one or possibly two dead bodies or…. Well, the odds of getting out of that situation without even a split lip… Draco had achieved the impossible! But then he remembered with a pang the deeply hurt look that had flickered over Potter’s face only for a moment there, as Draco had told him that holding his hand and lying next to him was the very last thing he had wanted to do. And that specific expression on ‘Wonder Boy’s’ face had truly been one ghastly sight. Honestly, Potter had looked awfully pale all at once and his eyes…

_Were none of Draco’s business._

Draco took his time in the shower then, mostly because every single part of his body was aching still. That – as he very well knew - was one of the after effects that the pain killing potion, that Potter had poured down his throat without his permission, had on him. Other then the sore muscles, the straining tendons and other minor things though (such as the pounding headache, the slightly dizzy feeling... the relatively ‘mild’ nausea too perhaps), his body was fixed up rather nicely again, he had to admit. The various potions - all in all - had done their work quite faultlessly.

While Potter had been out to… _steal_ (what an odd thought) the potions needed (and those Draco had _not_ needed as well, yes), Draco had summoned his last remaining strength to reset the broken bones in his body with a few practised spells, that actually took for once, even though zhey were done with his fuck-up of a wand. Now that he thought about that, Draco found that rather remarkable in a not so very soothing way actually, but he knew not to look into a gifted abraxan’s mouth, so he let it drop for now (but kept it in mind for later). It had been a good thing too that he’d rearranged those bones, because Potter of course was an utter imbecile who did not seem to be aware that they were in need of resetting in the first place. And how to do that either most likely. He was such a retard that he had made Draco gulp down those potions to mend his broken bones without checking at all how they were placed in his body. Had Draco not thought of setting them they would have grown back together all wrong and _that_ would _not_ have been pretty. It would have made Draco a bloody cripple actually and finding someone willing to correct the damage would be a pain.

 

Draco almost even looked well rested today. Well, better rested then he’d looked in a quite a long while at least. And the symptoms of the ‘hangover’ he was currently suffering from would be gone in a few hours time as well, so everything would be well. He was alive after all, which supposedly was a good thing he’d been told one or twice in his life. _However_ , his survival did prompt him with a new problem of course. He would have to spend several hours with lovely Lydia for company while being rather severely impaired for such a delicate situation he was finding himself in with her. He certainly would have to watch his back carefully with her, even more so then before, after all, there really couldn’t be any greater humiliation then being ‘saved’ by Potter once more in the event of another unlucky little ‘accident’. Death was definetely preferable to _that_ (Being exposed to Potter’s ugly mug in any state of being was bad enough, but being confronted with that sight while being in severe pain was absolutely intolerable.), which was one of the various reasons that Draco had been more then just a bit displeased that Potter had shown up the day before at the most inopportune moment in history.

It would have been so easy. He had gotten so close already. And the pain had been insignificant. He had already been drifting...

Alive. He was alive though, _still_. Who would have thought he’d even ever make it this far, he pondered. Well and as such – being alive – he had to deal with stuff now. Such a bother.

Draco wasn’t exactly... _afraid_ as such of that Lydia bint, but that woman sure could do some damage, there was no doubt about that. And as much ‘fun’ as it had been to be rescued by ‘Hero Boy – Potter’ of all the people in this crappy old world of theirs - because that stupid shit had never learned how to mind his own bloody business - Draco would rather not partake in a repeat performance of that particular spectacle.

He really could use a pepper up potion right about now. He wouldn’t have said no to _that,_ but no, Potter had to get him a sodding, utterly useless pain killing potion instead. Typical.

The classroom was empty, when Draco came back from the bathroom and for some reason he wasn’t as glad about it as he’d thought he would be. He grabbed his stuff and left for breakfast, ignoring the unsettling feeling in his stomach.

Draco received quite a lot more stares from the crowd then he’d expected, but then he understood. Most of them probably wondered how he was still alive after Potter had followed him out of the Great Hall (more like stormed after him) at lunch the previous day, after Potter had cause that very embarrassing scene. And then Draco hadn’t shown up for dinner after that of course, so the most promising theory must have been that ‘the golden boy’ had killed the ‘filthy Death Eater scum’. Draco wasn’t at all surprised to see disappointed looks on most of the volunteers faces and couldn’t help the little smirk that stole onto his face. He was alive and feeling rather well, _thanks_ to Potter. How they would _hate_ that fact. If only they knew.

He shouldn’t have been so awfully happy about having been saved by Harry buggering Potter - once again - but in this moment he couldn't help but be thrilled about it for the very first time since it had happened and simply enjoyed how irritated the fact that he was still living and breathing made all those idiots look. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad day after all.

*

Breakfast went rather smoothly, but then the first shift began and things started to get out of hand again. Due to the ‘hangover’, Draco was a good bit slower in most everything he did and far less attentive then usual too, which Lydia noticed at once. And although she had not attempted to harm him again (yet), she had made sure that he knew that he was still very much at her mercy. Draco in turn became more and more agitated, watching his steps as carefully as he could. Which was to say as best as his current state let him.

He was ridiculously relieved when that first shift came to an end and when the break began he hurriedly made his way up to the old classroom. And although he knew that there was a good chance for Potter to retreat there also, he had a feeling that it was just the right place for him to be right then.

The first thing Draco noticed when he entered the room was the enormous Gryffindor flag newly adorning the wall just across from the door. It looked to be the size and form of the great banners that usually only appeared above the tables of the Great Hall when the winner of the House Cup was being announced or at other great festivities. And now it decorated the wall in the old classroom with all it’s gaudy glory, barely fitting between two windows there. Draco was so appalled, he had no words for it.

And Potter was sitting on his mattress with a slightly crooked grin on his lips, eyes alight with mischief and mirth, crinkling at the corners there... but most importantly, he was looking straight at Draco. Because nobody else was there behind him. Hadn’t he been absolutely unable to move in that moment, he would have checked anyway if by any chance there was someone standing behind him after all, even though he _knew_ there wasn’t. But as it was, Draco rather felt like a mooncalf caught in the wand-light, frozen in its spot. He stood there unable to do or say anything but stare silently back at Potter, completely caught off guard by the bright grin he knew had never before been directed at him. It was such a dazzling, _bizarre_ thing… for Harry Potter to grin like that… truly… a true grin, directed at Draco, something he had only ever imagined. It was a nice grin too, quite possibly was contagious too and that how damn effortless it looked stretching those lips... and Draco was reminded then why exactly it was that he’d always hated Potter’s friends so very much. However, they were the very last thing on his mind in that moment.

He couldn’t help the blush that now warmed his cheeks, but he fought to keep the incriminating smile off his face that some traitorous part of him apparently wanted to give in return. He was not going to smile back though, because that would have been utterly embarrassing and just was not done. So he did his very best to keep an impassive look on his face (which he very likely failed, judging by the intensifying amusement he could see in Potter’s green, green eyes), tried to keep the wonder he felt at this revelation of a grin from showing as well as attempted to rid himself of the overpowering feeling of gratitude for the welcoming sight of someone truly smiling at him. Something he was keenly aware now, he had desperately craved for a long while.

Harry Potter grinning at him. Not sneering. No look of disgust in sight. Grinning, like they were… something. Like they shared a joke. Had Draco been the kind of person to write a journal, this event surely would have been worth an entry or two. Even if it was only to work out how it was at all possible for Potter to _grin_ at him like that. And no, no one was standing behind him. He’d checked with a lightning swift glance over his shoulder. Draco had closed the door behind himself after he’d done that and now forcibly pried his eyes from Potter’s face and forced himself to look at the giant flag on the wall. He cleared his throat once before he was able to speak.

“This _is_ one of the flags from the Great Hall, isn’t it?”, he asked, unable to keep his puzzlement from showing in his voice. He looked back at Potter who merely shrugged and smirked. Draco was feeling more then a bit shaky, being left with Potter’s ill-mannered lack of a proper response. What was he supposed to do or say now? What was Potter expecting of him?

The fear of an awkward silence made Draco speak before thinking once more, something he’d always prided himself on _not_ doing. Which was to say, all bets were off as soon as bloody Potter was concerned. Always had been.

“You’re pretty good at stealing, huh, Potter? Who would have thought that our ‘Great Saviour’ was a _thieve_?”, Draco said teasingly, but with not even a hint of malice in his voice and a small chuckle escaped his lips as well, shocking himself (and Potter too most likely). He could not have been any more embarrassed if he'd pissed his pants in that moment. (Which at least could have been interpreted as an act of defiance.) ”What else did you steal?”, he asked before he could stop himself.

He of course had been wondering all day why the famous Gryffindor seemingly had no issue at all with stealing potions from the nurse to save his enemy from rather certain death, but this… Well, now it looked like stealing healing potions wasn’t the only thing Potter was able to justify to himself to acquire unlawfully. Draco couldn't say how much that intrigued him.

Potter cocked his head to the side and watched him intently as he started to list things he now claimed to have stolen, half a grin still stretching his red lips. Draco found he couldn’t quite look away.

“I stole... a cup. From a Gringotts vault.”, The Gryffindor stated boldly, humming to himself once, before adding: “I stole a dragon there too.” He cleared his throat then, looking pensively up at the ceiling for a moment, seemingly forgetting where he was.

Yes, Draco most certainly had heard tales of the break-in at Gringotts and if there’d ever been someone he would have believed to be capable of pulling that kind of stunt off without ending up dead or imprisoned, it would be Potter. He had a truly terrifying amount of good luck that bloke, everybody knew that. He would of course _never_ willingly admit to ever having thought 'the-git-who-lived' capable in any way, shape or form. Yeah. He would definitely take that particular secret to his grave.

 _They_ of course had all be tortured for 'letting this happen', but Draco would not think of that right now.

“We stole potions ingredients from Snape, multiple times actually. And well, loads of smaller things over the years I guess. Er… Oh, stole food quite a lot in my younger years and then again when we were on the run. And now that I’m back at Hogwarts again of course. Hm, yeah. And...”, Potter looked to be deep in thought now, his brows were furrowed and he was chewing on his bottom lip for a moment, before they stretched into a grin once more. “I was _accused_ of having stolen a sword, but they were wrong about that. It came to me, I swear.” Draco snorted at Potter’s words, unable to contain his mirth at his words. He forcefully pushed the dark images tried wanted to intrude on him then. Potter didn’t seem to notice any of it however, but a dark look crossing his eyes then. “Then there was that locket of course. Er… yeah. Borrowed and found quite a few things too, you know, but that doesn’t actually count, does it... But- Ah, yes, and I stole your wand of course. But I gave that one back though.”, Potter said brightly once more, lips twitching as if they wanted to form a smile or a grin once more.

Draco didn’t know if he’d rather laugh, cry or scream at the nonchalance with which Potter had said the last thing.

It was true, Potter had indeed given back his wand. Not to him directly however, but to the Ministry. And _they_ had made sure that Draco was now utterly defenceless even with his wand in hand. The limitations and restrictions on it made it all but impossible for him to defend himself at all, so as soon as the need to properly defend himself would arise (again), he’d most likely die or end up in Azkaban, because on top of it all, he was not allowed to participate in any kind of fight. Even without a wand.

Being handed back his wand had been anticlimactic to say the least. After having had to work with his mothers wand for months and months… His mother’s wand had been… You could say it had been 'hesitant' to assist him. (Just like the real thing, Draco thought bitterly.)

It had been quite the struggle to perform magic with a wand that was so clearly… so very much not his own. There was a good reason why magical people held their wands so dear, were so hesitant to part with them at all and giving them into foreign hands was considered a sacrilege in most cases. Having lost his wand had felt like losing a limb; an arm or a leg or two. Draco had never felt so god damn powerless, so utterly vulnerable in his entire life. Living under one roof with not only the Dark Lord himself at that time, but with his followers as well, werewolves and the like. Predators, the whole damn lot of them. And with no new wands to be acquired… In the end he’d been given his mothers wand when he’d left for school. He had tried to be thankful for that.

Draco had truly hated Potter for having stolen his wand then, for having done that to him, for making him so vulnerable, leaving him there defenceless. And then in the end… Well, Draco had gotten it back in the end he supposed, but a fat lot of good that had done him.

He was still glad to not have ended up in Azkaban, yes, that much was true, but he doubted waiting for someone to finally finish him off was that much better.

Through it all, through all those years... When he’d been younger, one thing Draco had always felt certain of; his wand had been undoubtedly his own. His _alone_. It had chosen _him_ , after all! It had chosen him and it from thereon had and would only ever served him. Its allegiance was supposed to be unshakable or so he had believed. Well, it had turned out that hadn’t been true either. He wasn’t any special after all, not even to his own bloody wand. Another lie he’d believed in blindly and it had stung to find out it had simply been another lie. Because Harry Potter had gone and stolen his wand and had used it and now that bloody stick was useless to Draco and it wasn’t only because of the restrictions put on it, no. One of the things Draco most dreaded to think about these days was the fact that something had changed with his wand, other then the obvious.

In those months before the end he and his wand had apparently not only become unfamiliar with each other, but almost… almost _incompatible_ it felt like. That and that small trace of… of _something_ Potter had left behind on the familiar wood. There was something left on his wand, a remnant of a kind from its temporary _‘owner’_ , Draco had felt it at once. He couldn’t quite place it, only knew… _felt_ that it wasn’t a spell or curse or something malicious in any way (he’d become far too familiar with that kind of magic to not recognize something like that), not an actual trace either, more like… like some magical residue. And that wouldn’t have been so bad because honestly, residue like that and in an amount as unsubstantial as that on his wand did nothing at all, had no side effect, did no harm what so ever. But it was utterly unnerving to pick up your wand, expecting it to feel familiar and effortlessly comfortable, but then to always feel _something_ there that just _shouldn't_ be there, some niggling little bit of foreign magic on it. Someone else's magic or magical residue had no business being on _Draco’s_ wand. _Potter’s_ magic no less, which was so much worse then anybody elses, for reasons totally unknown to human kind. It was irritating the shit out of Draco. So, understandably Draco had developed quite the resentment for his own wand, his traitorously allegiance changing wand. Their relationship had been going downhill after they had finally been reunited. ‘Frustrating’ did not ever begin to describe how all of that felt.

So Potter listing the stealing of _his_ wand so casually, like it had been just another trophy of his... like it didn’t matter at all, like he hadn’t done any damage at all - _All was well, oh yes of course, Potter!_ \- especially now that he had given it back to its original owner… To be honest, Draco didn’t know how to feel about it. It hurt, it made him angry, it made him most of all inexplicably _tired_ though and he couldn’t quite be bothered to actually find that rage right in that moment he knew was simmering deep inside of him and that had always come so very easily to him whenever Potter had been involved. But Potter was smirking at him again and there was nothing even remotely condescending or malicious about that smirk and it baffled Draco and he couldn’t quite think straight right then.

“But I always had a good reason to steal stuff.”, Potter concluded, the beginning of a pout on his lips. It was the most ridiculous thing Draco had ever seen.

“Of course you did.”, Draco scoffed, barely being able to resist rolling his eyes. “Like for stealing that Gryffindor flag over there you’ve probably stuck permanently to our wall for example, right?”

He forced himself to look away from that hint of a pout on the Gryffindor’s lips. Nothing good would come of looking at that truly absurd expression on Potter’s face. Nothing.

A thought suddenly struck Draco. They were having another friendly conversation just now and he felt that should have been obvious, but for whatever reason it hadn’t been until now. This scared Draco almost out of his mind and not only because he had every right to feel offended and truly enraged by the casual mentioning of the abduction of his wand and yet he did not feel that at all. But also for example because of everything that could possibly go wrong from here on with this odd change in behaviour… No! He was at unease… because… because it was so very, very strange, this situation. There simply shouldn’t be anything kind of friendliness between the two of them. Who still genuinely hated each other! Obviously.

“I needed it for retaliation. And there’s a reason that flag has the colour of blood, you know.”, Potter said unapologetically, an uncaring little shrug he added as if to say that it was all self explanatory really and maybe it was. Who knew? Draco had other issues, for example that he enjoyed this little conversation far too much to try and destroy the... 'friendliness' that was happening.

“And what would that reason be?”, Draco asked, brows raised in question, a hint of amusement shining through in his voice, to his shame. His doubts and the unwavering wariness of the situation he had found himself in, he kept to himself as best as he could.

Potter’s eyes clouded for a moment before he spoke.

“Had I not always taken the ‘Gryffindor way out’, I would have lost much, much less blood. And probably would not have died either.”, Potter said, like it was no big deal at all and what he was talking about was only just a convenient excuse for his stealing habits. The Slytherin was quite shocked that Potter would talk about his so-called ‘death’ like that. Potter looked utterly unfazed, apart from an unhealthy dullness in his eyes for a second there, that had Draco shuddering.

Draco had heard some things about what had occurred in the forbidden forest that night. As it had turned out, what had happened to Potter had been an important part of his mothers trial, for a number of reasons Draco had previously not been aware of. Narcissa had not talked to him about it before or afterwards, but the bits and pieces that had been uncovered in her (at least partially public) trial had painted quite the baffling picture. At least he'd say so from what Draco could recollect about it. His memories of that time were a bit hazy to be honest. However, he knew that there were quite a lot of different opinions on the things that had been stated in that hearing, but some things had been undeniable with the amount of witnesses of the incident the ministry had been able to gather. And the whole world now knew that the killing curse had indeed been fired at and struck Potter, that he'd fallen limply to the ground, but also that he had been alive when being checked for vital signs by Narcissa Malfoy. What had happened in between those occurrences, _that_ was the mystery and it was there that the opinions were dividing. Draco for one knew that Potter was in fact not invincible. He did not believe him immune to that particular curse either and could also not quite believe that Potter had achieved immortality somehow. No, it looked like something other then the obvious explanations (absurd ones, in his opinion) had happened, something a lot more complicated. But what exactly that was… His guess was as good as the next random person’s.

But one thing he did know was, that it could not possibly have been as easy or harmless as Potter had made it sound like just now. No, he did not believe that at all. And although Draco was a naturally curious person, he was not nearly stupid enough to ask Potter for the mysterious tale of his ‘dying’.

Draco shook himself from those thoughts.

“You’re a Gryffindor, Potter. There’s no other way for you to take.”, he said, trying to sound calm and confident while he felt anything but. Potter rolled his eyes, then looked away and mumbled:

“The Sorting Hat might have a different opinion on that.”

Draco felt his facade crumble at those words and a stunned look appear on his face.

“What?”, he croaked like the reflection of the imbecile standing in front of him. But honestly, the notion that Potter could have ended up in any other house other then Gryffindor was ridiculous and would have reduced anybody to that state of utter dumbfoundedness.

“The Sorting Hat, it wanted to put me into Slytherin at first. I kind of… persuaded it to overthink its decision though. So it put me into Gryffindor instead.”, Potter said evenly, eyes steadily fixed on Draco, observing his reaction almost calculatingly. Draco looked into the famous Gryffindor – hero’s eyes in disbelieve, searching for deceit and lie, but there was none of it. All instincts were telling him that Potter was indeed telling the truth about this strangest of all strange tales. Who would have fucking thought. Harry Potter, known world wide for what a freaking noble do - gooder he was, bloody 'Golden Boy', supposedly would have sorted into the house of Snakes, had he not done the Slytherin thing and argued with that wretched old artefact. This revelation caused that sickening feeling in Draco, he’d first gotten when he’d had to realize that many of the things he’d been sold as truths from a young age on, had been lies all along. And wasn’t that a punch in the gut.

If anybody knew about this… Yes, and that brought Draco to the next rather unbelievable point. Why the bloody hell would Potter tell _him_ of all people about it? Not many people could know about this, or else everybody and their god damn dead Grandmother would know about it by now. It was just the way things went. They did _not_ however, of that Draco was sure, which lead him to believe that it in fact was a pretty well kept secret. Yeah, obviously very little people knew about it. If Draco had to guess, he would bet his pretty arse that in fact only the weasel and the know-it-all were aware and for once he truly wanted to know what they though about it. He’d so love to have seen their faces when they’d been told. Had they been shocked? Had they been disgusted?

But if it was such a big secret, why would Potter be telling _him_ about it all of a sudden, someone he couldn’t possibly trust? This was not a good sign actually. This might just be Potter’s very screwed up way of telling him that he was about to die and wouldn’t have the chance to tell anybody anyway. If he had hidden his true self like he was suggesting, that could be it. (Draco certainly knew some people who would have excelled in that kind of introduction. Nevermind.)

For Potter, being almost sorted into Slytherin wasn’t exactly something to brag about, not if he’d kept that particular truth hidden far all this time. Not that anybody would believe it anyway. And why would the idiot kill him after he had just saved Draco’s life once more? No, Draco was just paranoid. It wasn’t at all like Potter to kill someone after having done so much to keep them alive. Then again, maybe Draco should be rethinking some of the things he used to believe were true about Potter now. But hell, where did 'Hero Boy' hide those Slytherin tendencies all these years he supposedly had had all along?

“So, you’re trying to tell me, you actually would have sorted into Slytherin house. But you _denied_ the hat’s ruling. Why?” Draco couldn’t help but ask, his eyes never leaving Potter who was still sitting on the mattress there with a calm and content expression that was absolutely infuriating to look at.

He wasn’t sure why, but finding out that Potter had spurned Slytherin house as his home in Hogwarts, had spurned _them all_ for _Gryffindor_ -to make it worse-, it made Draco helplessly furious and indignant at the same time. He wanted to know if Slytherin house somehow wasn’t good enough for famous, perfect fucking Harry Potter or why the hell else he thought he was above the rules or what ever. He wanted to punch the bloody idiot in his stupid face or curse him, or both. But even though he was raging on the inside, he instinctively knew it could not truthfully be about that. It couldn’t possibly have been because of something so petty with Potter, could it? And so he was glad that he was managing to control his features and repress the full extent of the question that wanted to come out of his mouth. A why… Well, who wouldn’t want to know _why_.

Potter looked at him, lips twitching now, as if he was suppressing a grin. It made Draco mad. His head was spinning.

“You negotiated with the Sorting Hat. _Why?_ Because you didn’t want to go to Slytherin?“, Draco asked, narrowing his eyes both in scepticism and fury. Why the hell would 11 year old Potter say no to that? Say no to a house who could have make him strong; stronger then any other house probably? Even now after that cursed war it made little sense in Draco’s eyes. Even now, after Slytherin house had become what it was in the public’s eyes these days. Tarnished; noble reputation torn to shreds... But of course Potter would think… Of course Potter wouldn’t appreciate… It would have made him _strong_! Draco had to believe it would have made him strong.

If he were to be honest with himself - which he tried to avoid most days – he had wondered once or twice himself if perhaps… if perhaps his own fate would have been a different one, had he been sorted into an other house. It was a shameful thought, he knew, a weakness. But nobody knew and he could help it – Gods know- he’d take that truth to his grave too.

Potter got up from where he’d sat and stood, crossing his arms over his chest and slowly tilted his head to the side, looking at Draco with a curious expression on his face.

It was so strange… There they were, two painfully different people, adversaries since they’d first met and they were talking to each other now... _calmly_ , all things considered. It was a scary thing for Draco and he felt like the whole world had been turned upside down in a few moments only and everything felt utterly unreal. And yet, when Potter had grinned at him… It had been such a sweet thing, that grin. Draco hadn’t been able to do anything but stupidly stare and blush, barely keeping himself from smiling back at the other. It had been a shameful realization, but he was absolutely unable to help himself, couldn’t stop replaying it in his mind. Gods, one grin like that directed at him this once only... He’d felt weak in the knees and utterly bare and bloody hell, he’d never felt this _real_ and excited before. And scared too. Oh yes, this scared the shit out of him, because there was no denying his reaction or what it meant. Not that he hadn’t known, but damn, he had done _everything_ to deny, repress, ignore and forget for… for _years_. And one smile had undone him. He was so, so utterly fucked.

“Truth be told, Malfoy, I didn’t want to be in the same house as you.”, Potter said and somehow he managed to say it almost gently, his lips pulled up at one side into half a grin. It still felt like a punch to the gut and bloody hell, this was bad, that Draco hadn’t even seen that response coming. “Well, and I had been told that no other house produced as many dark wizards and witches as Slytherin.”

Draco lowered his eyes to the ground to escape Potter’s piercing gaze and it took him a moment before he could speak.

“I really left such a bad impression on you, that you did not want to be in the house the Sorting Hat wanted to put you in?”, Draco asked tonelessly, ignoring the afterthought Potter had added to his first statement. It mattered not.

“You were a spoiled brat who insulted everyone I… You insulted the first people who’d ever been kind to me. You’re a git! A pompous, narcissistic little prick who bloody _hates_ muggles and muggle-borns and what not. What did you expect me to do? Join the ranks?”, Potter shot at him, but his words were without the usual venom. He in fact sounded tired if anything. The half grin was gone and in its wake had left a haunted look in Potter’s eyes. And Draco felt tired too, Gods, did he feel tired.

No use in insisting that he had had no true understanding of things like ‘hate’ back then, that he honestly hadn’t known much at all at that age.

“Point taken.”, he said instead, inclining his head in acceptance. “You know, I hadn’t realized that what I’d said and done as an eleven year old child had such a great impact on you and your life decisions. It... _surprises_ me, to say the least.”, he added with a bit of a teasing smirk. It was Potter’s turn now to look surprised, disbelieving and curious too it appeared, leaving the brunette all but gaping at Draco. And that had _never_ been a good look on the him.

“You’re not arguing?”, Potter asked suspiciously, ignoring the bits that he normally would have gotten angry or offended about (same as him) and Draco came to the conclusion then, that this might just be exactly what made it possible for them to have this conversation, ignoring the bits that infuriated them. Somehow that amused Draco, making his throat feel restricted too.

“Why would I? I _was_ a spoiled little brat, a narcissistic prick. There is no use in arguing about that.”

There, he’d said it, had admitted something to Potter’s face he had never thought he would say - the way he had too – and wasn’t it fucking hilarious? He didn’t think he’d ever openly agreed with anything Potter had said before. But for some reason it didn’t bother him. They were accurate, weren’t they, those words? And it hadn’t sounded like they’d been chosen and said to hurt him, which was probably the biggest fucking surprise in all of this. The ‘Gryffindor’ could have said much, much… _so much_ _worse_ things about him.

“I never thought I’d ever hear you say that.”, Potter said with such an open expression of wonder and honest astonishment, that it made Draco’s head spin and had his heart racing.

Draco cleared his throat and shifted on his feet.

“Getting back to the point now. You cheated? _You_ somehow bargained with the Sorting Hat. How positively _Slytherin_ of you.”, Draco said, most likely looking as awed and admiring as he felt in that moment, still struggling to imagine eleven year old Harry Potter pulling this stunt off. That old patched up magical hat on his messy head, sliding down to cover his too bright eyes, the whole school watching.

“Er...Thanks, I guess?”, ‘Golden Boy’ said, appearing uncomfortable then.

“Damn, you would have made a _fabulous_ Slytherin!” Draco said, to make him even more uncomfortable. It was like a reflex at this point, but what was new was that he couldn’t help but break out into laughter at the stupid face Potter was making now. So he laughed. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he had done so.

“Did you just give me a compliment?”, Potter asked, staring at him slack jawed. Draco froze instantly.

“What? No! Of course not! I would never... ugh... See?! I can’t even say it! No, I would _never_ … do _that_.”, Draco assured with an exaggerated shudder, trying to look surprised and appalled by the insinuation that his words could have been taken as a compliment, while he silently berated himself for being so careless.

But all Potter did was laugh. He full heartedly laughed and Draco found that he quite liked that sound, might have… Some part of him might even have missed hearing it, from afar. It was a nice laugh, a _kind_ laugh and Potters eyes were lighting up kind of beautifully, making them almost sparkle. It made his whole face transform into something… _Something_. Like it used to do, years ago, when Potter had still laughed like that. Made Draco feel all kinds of horrible, forbidden things he didn’t acknowledge.

It was then that Draco thought, he might be amenable to hearing Potter’s laugh more often like that. Up close and all. The blonde’s lips started to twitch unwittingly and then stretched into a grin, a small chuckle escaping them quite without his consent. It wasn’t his fault, Potter’s laugh was contagious, everybody said so. Draco had seen it happening for years and it had angered him to an extend he… wouldn’t even go there. For the first time he had gotten close enough to get infected by it himself. It didn’t feel like such a bad thing now. It didn’t go unnoticed by Potter though, his helpless little chuckle, and the raven haired boy looked at him even more astonished then, before starting to laugh again.

And through it all, it hadn’t even once felt like he was being laughed _at_.

 

Harry: 

It was really fucking weird.

Obviously, it _should_ have been really weird -like all hell weird-, but for some mysterious reason it felt strangely good to laugh. With Malfoy. It felt so damn good to laugh and have Malfoy grin and chuckle in response. He looked so much younger like this, with his features untwisted, forming this expression Harry had never seen on him before. Gods, the effect a joyous expression had on Malfoy, his face was honestly stunning, mercury eyes sparkling, lips stretching just like that, transform his entire face into something else. Harry barely recognized him in that moment, so different did he look, relaxed, carefree for a second only. It made Harry’s heart leap into his throat and tightened his chest. Malfoy's eyes they were not cold like Harry had always thought they were, they were infused with warmth, laced with mirth. It was so different then what Harry was used to see on that face. The bitterness and the anger, the fear and hurt and all those things, they were gone, as was the look of boredom, that of disgust, they had all vanished those looks. The sneer that had infuriated Harry more then anything else, that expression he had loathed so much to see on this very same face, was hard to even imagine on Malfoy’s features in that moment. And Harry felt a deep, almost desperate yearning to see more expressions like this one on Malfoy’s face, a smile, a laugh, making him look so… so soft, so approachable. Kind. He looked kind like that. Harry couldn’t look away.

He looked almost carefree for a brief moment there and the image of it was burning itself into Harry’s memory forever. He already feared the inevitable comeback of the blonde's cold exterior. Just the thought of Malfoy distancing himself from Harry again, pained him. That was weird. Yeah… pretty weird that. But laughing… _laughing_ with his once nemesis, _that_ felt right. So strange. It almost felt like a relief.

“The break is almost over. I’ve got to get back to my group.”, the blonde said with a sigh, after their laughter had finally died down.

“Yeah, you probably should.”, Harry said, feeling a bit awkward all of a sudden.

“See you at lunch, I guess.”

“I never eat there.”, Harry said hurriedly, surprising himself. Malfoy was almost out the door already, but he'd heard his words and stilled. Harry didn’t quite know why he was offering that piece of personal information all of a sudden, but he had. It felt right. It was... keeping the connection, kind of. It should have been curious to him that he wanted that, to keep a connection he wasn’t even sure he wasn’t only imagining - to Malfoy of all people too - , but he didn’t even wonder.

The blonde turned around at the door then and looked at Harry in surprise, raising a single eyebrow at him in question while smirking. It wasn’t as nasty a sneer as Harry was used to, more teasing  or a bit mocking perhaps and Harry knew exactly what Malfoy was hinting at, even without him saying it out loud. Harry blushed a bit in embarrassment. The other looked awfully amused at his reaction, Harry tried not to mind.

 

Draco: 

He had slipped up! Potter had slipped up and had told him more about himself then he had wanted to. But why, Draco wondered. And then he understood. It was a peace offering! It was an offering of… of something. Could it be… Could this be… Could Potter possibly mean this an offering of... of friendship? No, it couldn’t be. But that was the only reasonable explanation for his strange behaviour, wasn’t it. Well, maybe not reasonable per se, considering their history and all, but the only explanation none the less. At least it was a peace offering, was it not? Yes, yes it was. And although Draco surely could use Potter’s little ‘slip up’ against him… Not only did he not feel the need for it in that moment, but he also kind of wanted to return the offering. He wanted peace. Peace with Potter. Salazar, what his father would say to that… No use thinking about that now, this was _his_ life after all. He had done as he’d been told for long enough and this was _his_ life now, _his_ choices. Finally. And Draco swore to himself in that moment, to make it count.

“Well, I have to. See you back here then.”, Draco said, smiling at Potter - a bit gingerly almost -, while trying to look and sound amused and failing to, thereupon leaving the room as quickly as he could.

 

Harry: 

Harry let out a sigh of relief. Malfoy hadn’t slapped Harry his ‘friendliness’ back in his face. That was… _interesting_. And felt good, satisfying even. Yes, very good indeed. His mood immediately improved and unnoticed a small, peaceful smile stole onto his face.

Harry was no longer wondering what had brought on this particular change in their behaviour and what made them appear ‘friendly’ like that, he was just enjoying it. He basked in a new sense of freedom for the first hour after that or so, but then that dreaded agitation came back and left him with barely any concentration at all at the end of the second three hour shift of the day.

He had started brooding again, wondering what had possessed him to tell Malfoy about his almost sorting into Slytherin. _Nobody_ knew about that! Nobody _alive_ at least, since Dumbledore had died. He had told ‘the guy who had all but killed Dumbledore’ about something so private and it left Harry wondering. Not even Hermione… Gods, he was glad neither she nor Ron… Ron would be so pissed. He’d feel so betrayed. Even more so now that Harry had told Malfoy about it first. Merlin, he was a shit friend.

At least Malfoy didn’t know how Harry had pleaded with the hat, had all but _begged_ it not to put him with the Snakes. The way he had told Malfoy this, it had sounded like he’d been some genius playing the hat, when in reality it had probably just taken pity in him. He was such a coward and a shitty friend and a murderer… He gulped and pushed that thought aside.

It had made him feel good, had made him feel _better_ about himself that Malfoy had looked at him with _admiration_ almost, when Harry had told him that he had persuaded the hat to put him somewhere else then where it had originally wanted to put him. It made him feel all the more ashamed now if he was being honest, weak and dirty, but he tried to push those thoughts aside too.

It was lunch time and everyone would gather in the Great Hall. Including the blonde Slytherin Harry was rooming with these days. And although he was still confused about... _everything_ , he couldn’t help but be a bit worried for him. He really didn’t want to have to find the idiot hurt again, like he had the day before. He was still suspecting that woman Malfoy was working with to be the one who'D done it, who had injured him so badly that he had almost died. He would have died, had Harry not found him and cared for him, he was sure of that. And Harry could not bare any more spilled blood. He had to make sure that his Malfoy… That _his nemesis_ _,_ he corrected himself fiercely, an involuntary shiver running through him.

He would to make sure that his _nemesis_ was okay.

Harry was going to eat in the Great Hall today. Again. This was getting ridiculous, he knew, but he there wasn’t that much of a choice there, was there?

 

Draco:

Potter came to the Great Hall for lunch, the same exact thing he had said he would _not_ do. What was most odd about this was that Potter wasn’t usually the type to say one thing and do another – he wasn’t deep enough for that most likely – and Draco was sure the ‘Gryffindor’ had meant it when he had said that he normally didn’t come and sit with the others at meal times. He had broken his own rule already when he had previously done it, to check up on Draco most likely. However, Potter had not yet gone against said ‘rule’ or what ever, since he had made Draco aware of its existence.

So it was more then a bit strange to see him entering the Great Hall at lunch, but if Draco were to be honest, he was somewhat glad that Potter had come. Draco smirked at the Gryffindor (because yes, he still was one, had been _raised_ a Gryffindor at least, no matter what Potter had told him about his sorting) when he took his seat at the other end of the hall at the Gryffindor table and Potter looked right back at him, appearing quite shaky somehow, his face a blank mask. Draco wasn’t sure what made him do it, but he shot Potter a small, fleeting grin. Just to be kind perhaps. Because he was in the mood to be kind. To Potter. Simply because he could, yes. And Potter smiled back at him then almost shyly after a second, before lowering his eyes and fixing them on his plate and Draco did the same, hoping to the Gods that nobody had witnessed this little exchange.

The rest of the meal went by smoother then Draco would have thought. Somehow people seemed to have enough respect today to not corner Potter again, perhaps because the boy with the raven hair still shot the crowd some distrustful glances here and there. Then again, that had never seemed to discourage them before. They didn’t even bother Draco much either, which was a new thing. Perhaps they’d grown bored already.

Draco was the first of the two of them to leave the tables and to make his way out the hall, but Potter hurriedly followed, Draco noted smugly. They made their way back to their room in silence until Draco forced himself to stop with a pretentious sigh of annoyance and wait for the other, who quickly caught up to him.

“Did you miss me already?”, Draco asked smirking and placed a hand on Potters shoulder to make his act of being ‘concerned’ for Potter complete. And to touch him perhaps.

“N-no!”, Potter stuttered and blushed. “I just thought it might be a good thing to eat with the other volunteers in the Great Hall for a change. Have some company and stuff.”, Potter clumsily tried to defend himself, looking flushed still and avoided to look at Draco, who withdrew his hand from the boy’s shoulder. There was no good enough excuse to keep it there or he would have done it for it had the same soothing, calming effect it had had on him before, he had noted.

“Yes, you really appeared to have to enjoyed that...”, Draco replied sarcastically, adding a conspiratorial little wink and a small, slightly smug smirk, to make his mocking so abundantly clear that even to a numbskull such as Potter couldn't’ possibly take it for anything else. He didn’t mean in a mean way exactly, but it still seemed to make Potter angry.

“You’re right, okay! I hated every second of it and I’ll probably not do it again. I just thought it would be worth a try.”, Harry explained with a deep scowl and indignant eyes.

Draco suddenly regretted having made Potter so defensive, which admittedly was a new one, and disconcerting in a way he had no words for. He would have honestly preferred to continue having ‘friendly’ conversations with Potter he realize with quite a shock.

“So, where do you usually eat if you don’t attend the regular meals at the Great Hall?”, Draco asked a bit too breathy for his comfort - sounding eager almost - when he had tried for calm and friendly. It was supposed to be a peace offering after all and Potter _did_ seem to relax a bit. Draco however felt no less foolish and embarrassed for how he had just sounded, despite the desired reaction and was only a bit pacified by the fact that Potter was an imbecile who apparently hadn’t noticed.

“I eat at the kitchens most of the time, or… steal food from the tables.”, Potter admitted a bit gingerly and a let slip small chuckle. Draco’s heart jumped at the peculiar sound, however not even a strong dose of Veritaserum could have made him admit to that. His traitorous reflexive smile in response to Potter’s face spasms and the like was humiliating enough.

“While hiding under that handy little cloak of yours, I presume?”, Draco asked back ‘innocently’. He should not have said ‘hiding’, he immediately berated himself for that very unfortunate slip of tongue once he noticed what he’d said. But judging from Potter’s relaxed expression, he didn’t seem to care about that little word he had so thoughtlessly said and which could have been seen as implying something he truly hadn't meant.

“Yes. Well, not when I’m in the kitchens. I’d chose the company of house elves over that of humans any day to be honest.”, Potter said, lips twitching to keep from grinning. “Maybe I should worry about what that says about me...”, he added with a self-deprecating little sigh. Draco chuckled lightly, he couldn't help himself.

Never in all his life would he have believed Potter to have any kind of sense of humour. He had never found the git even _remotely_ funny until now, but damn it, the way he had said that… so deliciously self-deprecatingly, yes. Also there clearly was some deeper meaning to his words as well...

He couldn’t quite say that it was a pleasant revelation though, to find Potter amusing in a way that wasn't involuntary.

“I believe it’s actually quite understandable for someone in your position.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself. It was the truth of course, he meant that, still, he was very uncomfortable with how revealing his words were. Potter looked at him now like he was completely and utterly shocked to be hearing something like this from Draco. It was the same for Draco.

“And what position would that be?”, the raven haired boy asked him cautiously, eyes boring onto Draco’s.

In other situations, with other people involved, said a bit differently, those words could have sounded almost salacious and Draco might once have wanted to twist that line into something exciting. But in _this_ moment, _this_ situation, with the people they were and with the undercurrent of nervousness and a bit of anticipation as well in Potter’s voice…

“You are being stalked by reporters, fans, fellow volunteers… and all for the wrong reasons. They don’t want to talk to _you_ , they want to talk to their ‘Saviour’. And you hate it.”, Draco carefully summarized, not quite believing with how little resentment he had said the word ‘fans’. He ignored Potter’s wince at the title. “They don’t see you for who you truly are, which is what you crave the most, isn’t it? Being able to be just...yourself.”, Draco concluded in a quiet voice. He could relate to that.

Potter looked at him now in pure astonishment and...there was hurt in his eyes, so clearly visible, that Draco had to turn his eyes from him, ashamed.

“I thought you’d still think I liked the _attention_.”, Potter murmured, bitterness in his voice. Draco shrugged his shoulders as if to show that it was obvious that he didn’t, when honestly Potter had good reason to think so. “How did you know?”, Potter croaked out.

“I guess I’m just a good observer.”, Draco told the other. Potter looked a bit disappointed at that. “And maybe… I just want to be myself too. At last.” Draco looked at Potter then and was surprised to see an almost understanding smile on his face. Draco tensed.

“That was pretty deep.”, Potter said with a grin. Draco chuckled, uncomfortable with the situation, uncomfortable with what he had admitted, uncomfortable with Potter not making fun of him for that. Somehow they ended up laughing then and it was freeing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me too fucking long to do this chapter, I know, and I apologize again. Life's kinda shitty right now and I just don't got enough space to breath here at the moment to do this properly. It'll take longer then I wanted it to, longer then I was expecting, but I'm on it, alright? Hope you'll stay with me.  
> I changed something in this chapter, that might change things to come. I hope it will not, (because that would make things difficult for me) but it felt like the right decision nonetheless. Reading what I've already written again made me think that it would be more honest. And I like honest. We'll see how it'll turn out.  
> Have a nice day everyone.

**Author's Note:**

> I've started this story on wattpad a while ago and am now in the process of editing (possibly quite a bit) and publishing it here as well. I have no idea how long this will take me and I can't promise anything, but if you are very impatient and want to read more of this, there are more chapters on wattpad under the same title, although not the same quality.  
> I always welcome reviews! :-)


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